Only the Good are Weak
by Onesmartcookie78
Summary: The enigmatic Dark Lord has not only changed appearance, but tactics. Eventual Tomione. Poll on profile. TEMPORARY HIATUS! Chapters one and two edited 8/14/13
1. Book One, Preface

Only the Good are Weak

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: The enigmatic Dark Lord has changed in not only appearance, but tactics. **VOTE ON PROFILE FOR FEATURED HORCRUX!**

**Disclaimer**: The last time I looked in the mirror, I realised: "Hey, I'm not a millionaire authoress." It made me dreadfully sad, but I got over it. Therefore, any characters, plots, or themes that you recognise belong to J.K. Rowling, not me. Cheers!

**A/N**: I know that Voldemort hugged Draco in the movie and therefore must but sweet and fluffy, but I'm of the firm belief that he is evil. And so, my Voldie *ducks Avada* will be evil.

_**[!] UPDATE**__: Edited on August 14, 2013 __**[!]**_

* * *

**Prologue: Fate Symphony**

"I think I'll dismember the world and then I'll dance in the wreckage."

― Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Volume 1: Preludes and Nocturnes

* * *

**May 2, 1998:**

Hermione Jean Granger had never been more terrified in her entire life than she was in this brief moment.

"What are you going to do to me?"

They had lost. The Battle of Hogwarts was over and the Light side was finished. Everyone was dead, other than her. Bellatrix had killed Molly and then proceeded to finish off the rest of the grieving, surprised Weasleys. Tonks had been murdered by Fenrir Greyback, along with her husband, Remus Lupin.

And Harry -her best mate and the only one that could possibly have defeated Lord Voldemort since Dumbledore's death- had been struck down by the Dark Lord.

Tears streaming down her face, Hermione glanced at the carnage surrounding her. Anything to avoid the red slits that were Voldemort's eyes currently boring into her.

"Whatever I please, filthy little Mudblood," He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sneered.

The Great Hall was in ruins; glass glittered on the stone floor, remnants of the tall windows, old tableware and the hourglass structures that had once recorded points. The various jewels that had once belonged in the four devices were scattered across the floors, shimmering despite the dank, dirty room that somehow reeked of a lost cause.

Which, it seemed, was what she had been fighting for all along. Now that all of her hope was gone -destroyed with the death of the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio- she felt mind numbingly empty. A hollowness that could only be the void of death had settled itself deep in her heart

"Will you kill me?" She finally turned to face her main opposition for the past eight years (though he had only been able to actively participate for half of the time) something akin to defiance in her eyes. Her voice, however, hid a somewhat desperate edge.

"The wretched Mudblood dares talk back to the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix Lestrange shrieked rather unattractively.

"Quiet, Bellatrix," Voldemort warned, turning to face the offending witch, "remember your place. You will always be below me," he scowled, and the teenage Gryffindor in front of him nearly snorted.

His 'Knight' knelt in front of him: "Of, course My Lord, my blood shall never be as pure as yours."

At this, Hermione burst out laughing. Though an entirely serious situation in which her life was on the line, she found genuine hilarity in this scenario. It was too ridiculous, Voldemort preaching pureblood supremacy when he himself was not shitting pureblood rainbows.

She guffawed loudly, tears rolling from her eyes.

Maybe it was the pain of losing those closest to her, the fact that it had only been twenty minutes since said loss. Maybe it was that the past year of camping which had made her understandably irritable from lack of sleep and improper nourishment. Perhaps it was the fact that Draco Malfoy had been the only one in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to call her that. Or that he had died only minutes after he had switched sides. Or was it the irony and injustice of all of these factors combined? Her supposed Gryffindor courage, perhaps?

Whatever it was, Hermione was determined to blame it for her next, incredibly foolish action.

The would-be Head Girl straightened up and stared into his eyes. "Oh, this is rich, Tom Marvolo Riddle seemingly lording his pure blood over his follower's heads when he himself is only a half-blood. Isn't that right, Tom? Would you fancy me telling them of your mother's shameless ways of 'courting' a muggle, Tom? Or perhaps how depressed she was when her love potion on him wore off and he ran away? How disgusted he was in you when you found him years later?"

With each word that left her mouth, the nose-less man's eyes flashed brighter and brighter with anger. Pure unadulterated rage caused his magic to bubble to the surface, it's maniacal tendrils wrapping around her, suffocating her. His fury seeped into her pores, making her gasp for breath.

"I could kill you," You-Know-Who mused. His rage filled voice turned to ice and Hermione fell to her knees, still choking, as the Dark Lord's magic retracted and sharp pieces of crystal cut the flesh of her legs. "But I have a feeling that that is what you want. You are trying to make me kill you."

Or maybe the reason he had listed was why she had chosen to speak up, because deep down, she felt like it was true. Everyone she knew was dead, and her parents would never remember her unless she somehow managed to escape. It only felt right that she should die alongside her best mates and everyone else she had known and loved.

"Perhaps," she answered noncommittally, still refusing to break his gaze.

"I also think that you would not care if I tortured you." A cold grin manifested itself on his thin lips. "So, I will do none of this."

Bellatrix appeared horrified at the prospect of not torturing a muggle-born (obviously her favourite pastime) and as such, let out an indignant sound, silenced by the commanding look her Lord shot her.

"Come, we are leaving," Voldemort forcefully addressed his followers. Many of his Death Eaters looked shocked and disgusted at his choice.

Hermione, however, could only gawk at his decision.

As he closed the front entrance way door, Tom Marvolo Riddle -Lord Voldemort- spun and met her eyes one last time. "I am going to seal all entrances and secret passageways. Enjoy your stay, Mudblood," he sneered.

* * *

**A/N**: Titles are based off of famous classical music. This one is also known as Beethoven's "Symphony No. 5 in C Minor" Try reading and listening at the same time! You know what they say about a movie being nothing without a soundtrack! Enjoy at your viewing leisure, read and review!


	2. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 1

Only the Good are Weak

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary**: The enigmatic Dark Lord has not only changed in appearance, but tactics. **VOTE FOR FEATURED HORCRUX ON PROFILE!**

**Disclaimer**: See first chapter.

**A/N**: Thanks to **Treegasms** for pointing out that this said 1993 as the creation of the diary vs. 1943. I am sorry for any confusion!

**_[!]_** _**UPDATE**__: This was edited on August 14, 2013 __**[!]**_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Le Cygne**

_"You may delay, but time will not."_

―Benjamin Franklin

* * *

She was going mental.

She'd had no human interaction in months, according to the useful tick marks next to the wall in her favourite nook of the library.

Ah, the library. She was rather beginning to hate it.

Having diligently read (and reread) all of the tomes on the normal bookshelves, she had moved onto the Restricted Section, taking to the darker novels, the ones that Tom Riddle would have read. That Salazar Slytherin would have put there himself. She read of Legilimency and Occlumency (both of which she attempted to learn, though she would never know if she was any good, as it took a Legilimens to learn Occlumency and vice versa). She learnt dark curses, practised them, even.

Basically, she was mental despite her attempts to remain otherwise.

Every day she awoke, having passed out at her desk in the library, and ticked off another twenty-four hours of suffering. She then walked leisurely to the kitchen -bypassing desecrated portraits, which the occupants had understandably vacated- where she tickled the pear and then ate a little toast. Afterwards, she bathed in the miraculously intact Prefect bathroom and then resumed her studies.

She paid no heed to the dilapidated ruins of the once magnificent school. She made no attempts to escape. On that subject, in fact, she dared not let her mind wander. If Voldemort said he had sealed her in with magic, he had. There was no need to check for a third or fourth time, as her failed tries twice previously had unearthed discouraging results.

Every few days, she cleaned the clothes she had been wearing and changed into a new set of robes she had summoned from her pink beaded bag.

Countless hours of Transfiguration, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology and whatever else she deemed important to know later (if there was to be a later), she would unceremoniously fall into a state of unrest on top of whatever lucky book she had been perusing. What should have been peaceful dreams turned into vicious nightmares.

And the next day, she would get up and do it all again.

Well, that wasn't exactly true; her first few weeks here had been spent lining up all of the dead that she could find in the Great Hall. She had collected and labelled their wands and then burned their bodies. If she had been religious, she would have prayed that their souls found peace, but she could not bring herself to believe in any God after what had happened.

If there was a God, then this massacre should not have occurred. If there was a God, He would have prevented this. If there was a God... He should fear her, for she would get her revenge on Him and Voldemort.

The month after, she had spent every waking hour in a state of grieving, incurable even by the fine Swiss chocolate she had discovered in the kitchens.

For six months, her process ran its continuation. She dared not go anywhere else in the castle after her initial walkthrough to discover her dead allies and enemies, both of which she took care of.

After all, one should always respect the dead even if the dead had been insufferable prats (cough*Malfoy*cough) when they were alive, or an entire family that she and known and loved...

That brought her to the Weasleys, her magical family. They consisted of her redhead sometimes friend (Ginny), the practical jokesters (Fred and George), the studious prat (Percy), the dragon tamer (Charlie), the half-werewolf (Bill), a fantastic cook and scary mother (Molly) and a muggle obsessed Ministry worker (Arthur). And Ron.

The boy she had one day dreamt of marrying, of growing old with and loving forever and always. They'd had a sweet relationship, consisting of a mutual love and friendship that had existed for at least six years. The kiss they had shared right before he had died had proved so.

The truth, however, was unbearable: they had only been suited for that friendship. And with his death, her dreams of changing their relationship had died as well. He had been her first love, perhaps her only love, and he was gone.

These thoughts- this was why, five months later, Hermione found herself breaking down again. This time though, amid soft, soothing singing that seemed vaguely familiar. She pulled herself together, emotional walls erected and ready for combat again.

Maybe her change in demeanor is what caused the appearance of the familiar object that day.

* * *

**September 26, 1998:**

Hermione Granger woke up on a copy of _Moste Potente Potions_ and, stretching languidly, observed the library. The room was in utter shambles, books from her own endeavors strewn across the floor (yes, she could no longer find it in herself to care about the condition of her precious items) and bits of the collapsed ceiling littering the floor.

She looked to her cauldron, which resided smack dab in the centre of the room. Inside brewed a batch of Polyjuice Potion, and next to it another round of Dreamless Sleep for when her nightmares became too much. Before these potions, she had brewed and bottled all sorts of healing potions, some poisons, and even a batch of Felix Felicis (though she dared not try it, as it was fatal if brewed improperly). She was preparing, though she did not know what for, and she was almost ready.

This was a mindset she had attained only recently, within the past three months in fact, and she wasn't sure what the cause of it was. The months prior, she had been content on giving up. She had been on the path to brewing a poison and then drinking it. But something made her stop and open _Moste Potente Potions_ instead- the singing again. It made her resort to Polyjuice Potion instead.

The music, she presumed, was what caused her to go to the Headmaster's old office on that October day.

Hermione paused at the foot of the steps to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office. She didn't know where to go from here, though if her instincts -or whatever it was- had gotten her this far, so she should be able to guess the password, right?

"Licorice Wands?"

Nothing happened.

"Canary Creams?"

That wasn't it.

"Ton-Tongue Toffee?"

"Fudge Flies?"

"Acid Pops?"

"Ice Mice?"

Hermione was running out of candies. Desperately, she continued her speculations: "Chocolate Frogs!"

"Of course! Sherbert Lemon?" The stairwell rose up as the gargoyle stepped out of the way due to the correct password and Hermione ascended the steps.

When she reached the top and opened the door, Dumbledore's pensieve was in clear view, an empty phial askew next to it. Without sticking her head in, Hermione knew it contained Snape's memories of Lily. She didn't dare look in it.

The singing (was she imagining it?) drew her to the desk, and then it stopped. Hermione spun around to find Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, perched on a table. Fawkes. Phoenixes were known to have remarkable, soul-touching singing prowess, a single note of their songs able to instill courage and calm. Fawkes had been the glue holding her together.

Though she had thought Fawkes to have flown off after Dumbledore's funeral, but here he was before her bearing... a letter?

Hermione looked at the bird in confusion, and Fawkes returned the favour, tilting his scarlet head to the side, his wide black eyes twinkling like Dumbledore's had.

Oh, Godric, Dumbledore. Hermione felt a choked sob force itself up her throat. With Dumbledore came the memory of the loss of her best mates and all of the Light side as well.

She dropped to the floor suddenly, gasping for breath as tears poured out of her eyes. She thought she had mourned enough! She thought she had become void of emotion so that she could no longer feel this wretched pain!

Fawkes leaned down slightly and nuzzled her with his beak, letting out another soft hum. Hermione felt as though she had ingested a warm liquid, and rose to her feet again.

"Thank you," she murmured, aware that Fawkes was an intelligent bird based on Harry's -she swallowed another cry- experiences with him and would more than likely understand her.

Fawkes's beak seemed to form a smile as he flew off the table and onto her shoulder. He settled himself there, cooing quietly in her ear as he snuggled against her.

"We are the only survivors, Fawkes," Hermione realised, "does this mean that you will stay with me?" She stroked his head hesitantly and found the phoenix leaning into her touch.

Fawkes appeared to nod and offered her a talon in which a letter addressed to her in green ink.

_"Hermione Jean Granger"_

She opened it to find two quotes on the front:

_"'Time is what we want most,but what we use worst.'"_

― William Penn

_"'Time is an illusion.'"_

― Albert Einstein

She flipped it over curiously:

_"Dear Miss. Granger,_

_"The date is July 28, 1996 as I write this, and I am dying from the Horcrux that was the Gaunt family ring._

_"If I am correct, all is lost, the Light side has been destroyed, Harry is dead and so am I. It was never my intention for things to work out this way; in fact, I had set it all up to turn out differently._

_"If you are receiving this though, it is up to you. If you are curious, I had letters drawn up for if it were Ron or Harry who had survived instead of you, but Fawkes was meant to give the corresponding letter the survivor. And if you wish to know how I knew one of you three would survive, it was not a guess, but a hope. If none of you were alive, all would be lost._

_"Considering all that has happened in your past, Miss Granger, I think you are more than capable of the task before you, though you may not like it much. However, with your keen understanding of magic and thirst for knowledge, I know you will be able to succeed._

_"And so, I must request one last thing from you; enclosed is a Time-Turner. I am aware that you know the mechanics of them, so I ask that you put this knowledge to use._

_"I kept the Time-Turner you possessed in your third year and altered it in case no other solutions were present. The result is a device that can go back further than a few hours."_

Hermione tipped the envelope into her hand and found a Time-Turner._ "I mark the hours, every one, Nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you, Are gauged by what you have to do." _Yes, the inscription on the back proved that this Time-Turner had once belonged to her. Upon seeing the object, Fawkes nipped her affectionately on the ear.

_"The result is a device that will hopefully be able to transport you fifty-some years in the past. Yes, Miss. Granger, the result is that you will exist in Tom Riddle's time._

_"I know that you are more than likely frightened by this prospect, but I ask you to refrain from panicking and disregarding my letter._

_"If you take the path laid before you, you can change the entire course of the war. Everyone's fate will be changed. If you complete this, victims not only from this war, but from the First Wizarding War will survive as well. You will single-handedly save hundreds of thousands of lives. You will be a hero."_

That bit she had to wonder about. Dumbledore didn't really know her. He had known Harry, had paid all of his attentions to The-Boy-Who-Lived. He'd never spent any time on her or Ron. He only knew what Harry had told her. It was obvious. Being a hero may appeal to her sense of justice, but it was more likely to influence Ron, appealing to the inferiority complex his brothers and Harry had unintentionally created.

_"All you must do is turn the Time-Turner back however many years it takes to get to the beginning or middle or end of the 1942-1943 school year (as the Time-Turner can only turn back years -not months or days- the time of the year will depend on what month and day you depart on). This was the year that Tom Riddle created the Horcrux that is currently killing me._

_"As I am sure you have assumed, every time you create a Horcrux, you feel less and less pain, as the amount of soul you contain is significantly less with each creation. This means that every time Tom Riddle made a Horcrux, he felt it less. The first few creations, however, are extremely painful. Therefore, if one were to destroy a Horcrux whilst Tom was in the middle of creating another, he would assume that it was only the pain of making that Horcrux._

_"Your job, Miss. Granger, is to transport yourself into the 1942-1943 (Tom's fifth year at Hogwarts) school year and find the diary Horcrux (it will be created on June 13, 1943), the first Horcrux Tom Riddle ever made. Once you locate it (it is possible that it is hidden among his things) you must hold onto it until you discover when he goes to the Riddle Mansion and murders his family. On this day, he will make the Gaunt family ring a Horcrux. You shall destroy the diary then._

_"This means that you will have to befriend Tom, or at least garner some of his attention, for he has no real friends. Make yourself seem useful to him and if he deems you useful enough, you may find that you can gain access to his things and find the diary._

_"I trust you have the Invisibility Cloak and Marauder's Map? You will find both of these necessary._

_"If you have made a decision, there is a folder containing information of your schooling that you will give to the younger me (then the Transfiguration professor) which I will read and in turn give to Headmaster Dippet. That folder has a copy of the Beauxbatons seal (two crossed wands shooting three stars each) on it. I believe you are fluent in French? You should spout the language in times of distress or anger and use a faux French accent when speaking English. Of course, you could also say that your father was English, so you grew up listening to a British accent speaking English and picked up your accent through this._

_"The other file contains information that is for me and me only. Do not give it to Dippet. That folder at least partly explains your situation. You will learn more of its contents when you arrive in the past."_

The further he wrote, the more Dumbledore seemed to assume that she would concede to his dream.

_"There is a potion in the first drawer on the left in my desk. This potion will recreate the you as you appeared when you were sixteen and will allow you to age from there. This will eliminate any suspicion as to your age._

_"Finally, Miss Granger, I inform you that Fawkes is now yours. You will take him into the past with you and he shall serve you as dutifully and kindly as he did me._

_"Each turn equates to two years in the past._

_"Until we meet again, Miss. Granger,_

_"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore"_

Hermione struggled with herself for five days, completely uncertain as to what she should do, and knowing that the longer she put off making a decision, the worse her predicament may get.

After finishing the letter, she had found the potion in his desk tied to a single silver chain. She had taken to wearing it around her neck, along with the Time-Turner.

As the days passed, Fawkes grew restless and concerned over her, a natural shift for him, it seemed. Hermione wasn't exactly sure how she knew what the bird was feeling and thinking, but she assumed it was a connection that she could ask the younger Dumbledore about (if she chose to hurl herself into the past, that was) considering it wasn't in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._

Or her previous theory was right and she was going mental, or already was.

In the end, Fawkes convinced her that she must, lamenting that there was nothing left for her here and that she would be able to attempt to fix things for the better.

He also threatened to leave her if she stayed any longer. That's right, she was blackmailed by a bird into travelling fifty-six years in the past.

What had she gotten herself into?

Regardless, Hermione packed, bathed, bottled the last of her potions -she supposed Fawkes had influenced her to preparing unknowingly for her trip- downed the foul Age Reducing Potion and then turned the Time-Turner twenty-eight times.

And as Hermione Jean Granger disappeared on the spot, the chain of the time travelling device around her and Fawkes's necks, she was truly unaware of the consequences of her choice.

* * *

**A/N**: This song title actually has a significance! "Le Cygne" means "the swan" in French, but "_cygne_" is pronounced the same as "_signe_" which means "sign". This lovely music is from The Carnival of the Animals and is the thirteenth movement. Written by Saint- Saëns. Bonus Fact: This song is often referred to as "The Dying Swan" after a poem by Tennyson.


	3. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 2

Only the Good are Weak

**Disclaimer:** It's in the first chapter, but whenever I'm feeling especially sarcastic, I'll post it here.

**A/N:** Cor Blimey! 399 views? Right, so next chapter will have Tom in it! Wicked, hmm? :) Also, I kept the times as they would be on my clock (24 hour clock, mind) but wrote them how it's said in the States to avoid some confusion.

Double quotes with italics is Fawkes talking to Hermy and single quotes with italics are Hermy's responses

Thank you to **Someone's Charm** and _Guest_ for reviewing! (Could you leave another name so that I can address you as that instead?)

Same goes to **Agent LightDarke **for favouriting.

And of course, **Agent LightDarke **and **Someone's Charm** for following

Cheers, and enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Christofori's Dream**

* * *

"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself."

― Andy Warhol, _The Philosophy of Andy Warhol_

* * *

**Hogwarts, October 1, 1942, 01:00:**

Having absconded the library in her time, Hermione found that she had landed in the library of 1942 -or at least she hoped it was 1942- at one o'clock in the morning, the time that she had left -or she at least assumed it was the same time. The windows showed it to be dark outside, and with no muggle watch to tell time, she had no way of knowing.

_"You're a witch, Hermione, use magic."_ She felt rather than heard Fawkes say to her.

_'Great, now I am getting bossed around by a bird_.' Hermione thought sarcastically as she conjured herself a pocket watch. Indeed it was one o'clock.

_"That's a rather rude thing to say,"_ Fawkes made an annoyed sound low in his throat from his perch on a bookshelf and was only hushed when Hermione gesticulated wildly. There was a chance that Tom Riddle and his cronies were checking out the Restricted Section, after all.

_'Fawkes, be quiet and get under the Invisibility Cloak and we'll go see Dumbledore.'_ As expected, Fawkes immediately perked up and rested on Hermione's outstretched arm, allowing himself to be pulled into the safety of invisibility.

Hermione rolled her eyes and made her way to the Transfiguration room, sure to cast _silencio_ on her new friend so that he could at least not make any outward noise.

This, of course, forced him to shout mentally at her.

_"HERMIONE WHY DID YOU DO THAT?! I WAS GOING TO BE QUIET!"_

Hermione only laughed, though quietly.

_"I SEE HOW IT IS! YOU GET TO TALK AND I DON'T! REVERSE THE CHARM AT ONCE!"_

_'Fawkes, quit mentally blowing my eardrums out and I will consider alleviating the charm.'_ Hermione chastised.

Fawkes kept the mute on for about twenty seconds before he started again. Hermione had not realised before just how loud her newly acquired companion was.

_"SO BECAUSE I AM A PHOENIX YOU THINK YOU ARE BETTER THAN ME?! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! NO, WORSE! THIS IS SPECIESISM!"_

_'You poor thing.'_ Hermione snarked at Fawkes, though she would have to add "equality to phoenixes" to her S.P.E.W. campaign.

_"The Dark Lord -not matter how tolerant he may be when he is fifteen- would never approve of house-elf rights. Or-"_ Fawkes mentally scoffed, _"phoenix rights."_

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Hermione, foolishly enough, had not thought to summon the Marauder's Map from her pink beaded bag, so when she rounded the next corner, she nearly ran smack into Tom Riddle. She would have to, had he not paused suddenly.

"Who's there." His magic flared around him, searching._ "Homenum Revelio."_ When his spell divulged her presence, Hermione held her breath; Voldemort was staring right at her. Riddle's coal black eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, he raised his hand, almost touching the Cloak...

"Tom!" Who could only have been relation of Pansy Parkinson literally jumped on the future killer of everyone Hermione loved. Following her were a large group of what Hermione would later describe as Slytherin fangirls. "Tom, where were you! We were so worried!"

Hermione slowly backed away from Tom, casting a nonverbal silencing charm on herself whilst they were distracted.

"Camellia, it is one o'clock in the morning and you ladies have not allowed me any sleep at all-" Tom all but growled. He forced his voice to remain polite though, seeing as he had a facade to keep up and finally turned to look at the other students.

Hermione took her chance and crept around the harem, on her way to classroom 1B.

"It's not as though you would have slept anyway, Tom," Camellia -Pansy's relative- sniffed, "you were too busy reading! And now you're going to go get more books from the library, aren't you." Did she really think that nagging was attractive?

Tom grimaced, "That was the point of me leaving the common room," he deadpanned, "now go back, or you'll get caught." The underlying threat in his voice caused the horde of giggling girls to retreat slightly.

Camellia, who was the closest to him, leapt back immediately. "Y-yes, let's go back now," she addressed the teenyboppers.

Tom smirked, though it was barely noticeable. "You do that, Camellia."

Once the girls had swayed their way to the portrait so they could go back to the dungeons, Riddle cast his spell again. _"Homenum Revelio."_ This time it came back negative

* * *

_"Well, that was close,"_ Fawkes commented dryly.

_'Don't remind me.'_ Hermione replied as she made her way past a prefect from Ravenclaw._ 'I nearly got caught.'_

_"Are we almost there?"_ Fawkes complained.

_'What are you five?'_ Hermione opened the door to the Transfiguration Courtyard partially and peered around, on the lookout for prefects. When Hermione saw a Head Boy badge, she let the door swing shut and pressed herself into the other door on the set.

The Head Boy -who turned out to be a Hufflepuff- came to investigate, opening the door that Hermione had just closed. He searched for intruders and then walked away.

Hermione caught the door and slipped into the courtyard, following the Hufflepuff invisibly. When she reached the door to 1B, she halted.

Hermione took a deep breath and hoped that she wouldn't be waking up Dumbledore as she pushed at the doors and took off the Cloak at one thirty in the morning.

The room looked much like Dumbledore's office as Headmaster had looked in her time; silver instruments crowded the Transfiguration teacher's desk and for lack of a better way of describing it, was in a state of organised chaos. Diplomas hung from the walls and Fawkes's cage resided next to Dumbledore's table.

Hermione took a moment to take it all in before entering the classroom where she saw Professor Dumbledore hunched over his desk, scrawling at a piece of parchment. His burnt orange robes with lime green stars were strewn across his chair and the desk. Her old Headmaster appeared much younger; his hair was auburn and his blue eyes twinkled more. He glanced up when she approached his desk, instantly suspicious.

"Professor Dumbledore, I have something for you," Hermione first held out the envelope solely for him.

Dumbledore took it without hesitation and then perused it. "Hmm.. Well this is a bit of a predicament, isn't it, Miss Dumbledore?"

Hermione let out a startled noise and Fawkes moved from her arm to her shoulder to comfort her, rubbing his feathers against her cheeks.

"I-I don't understand," Hermione admitted, "I never opened the envelope..."

Dumbledore nodded, his robes ruffling as he reached into the envelope again and pulled out a few pieces of jewellery. "How much do you know of my family, Miss Granger?"

Hermione glanced at him calculatingly as he spread a ring, a necklace and a comb out on his desk. "There was book written after your death in my time. Your father was a pureblood, your mother a muggle, you had a brother, Aberforth and a sister, Ariana. I-I don't think you want me to say any more on her..." Hermione trailed off uncertainly.

The flash of grief in Dumbledore's eyes proved that she had made the correct decision. "And of my extended family?"

"Nothing was said of them, only that your father had a brother."

"Not even his name?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, let me tell you about my uncle. He ended up marrying one of my cousins to keep the Dumbledore and Merlin blood in the family, like many of my relatives. You will need to know this, as he is your grandfather." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at her knowingly. "His name was Abraham. His wife was Olivia, his second cousin. They had only one son, Wendell, and he married his mother's sister's daughter, Sasha. That is where you come in- you are Heather Rachel Dumbledore, my goddaughter, second cousin, and for all intents and purposes, my niece."

"What of Wendell, Sasha, Olivia and Abraham?" Hermione wondered aloud, still attempting to process the information.

"Well, I -that is, the future me- did some digging. Did you know that you were adopted, Miss Granger?"

Hermione bowed her head slightly, "They told me when I was younger. I grew up knowing that they weren't my real parents, but I didn't care. When push came to shove, I knew that they loved me and I loved them."

The thought of her parents brought tears to her eyes. They were alone in Australia, unable to remember their own child.

"This is not just a story that I made up, Miss Granger: you are descended from Olivia and Abraham. You are a byproduct of inbreeding; a pureblood witch."

Hermione made a face: "That's just disgusting," she huffed.

"Most of the time the relationships occurred between distant relatives, but I concur." Dumbledore affirmed. "Regardless, you are really a member of the Dumbledore family, Miss Granger."

"T-That's- this can't be true!" Hermione spluttered, "it-it's just not possible!" She ran a hand through her hair shakily. "I'm not related to Merlin! That's just-"

"Completely and utterly true," Dumbledore said, "you achieved ten O.W.L.s, you are the brightest witch of your age, you alone survived-"

Hermione winced at the reminder, "I survived because Voldemort decided he wished to torture me, not because I did anything exceptional." She argued, "I was not a hero- I am not a hero! I've killed people, Professor, in the name of war, but what kind of person does that make me?" She ground out.

"The kind of person who will do anything for someone they love," Dumbledore put hand on the shoulder that Fawkes wasn't currently occupying. "Miss Granger, you will come to realise that your heritage is fitting. You are a powerful, bright and capable witch, a worthy member of the Dumbledore line." He assured her, "now Miss Granger-"

"Why do you keep calling me 'Granger' if I am a Dumbledore?" She demanded.

Fawkes chirped at the other Fawkes whilst Dumbledore responded. "To remind you of who you are and where you come from, Miss Granger. You will do well to remember these things. Never forget, as you will be here for a very long time indeed."

Hermione gave a slow, sad smile and wished he would call her 'Dumbledore' instead. She could do without hearing the last name of her parents. It only made the aching hole in her chest all the more apparent.

"I will and can remember. It's hard to forget something like this," Hermione told him whilst both of their phoenixes mimed each other, flapping their wings. "But I'd rather not have something so scarring shoved in my face. Miss Dumbledore is only slightly better."

"Very well. Onto this matter, then," Dumbledore held up the ring, a rhodium band with a rose detailed into it, a large letter D on top of that. The centre of the rose held a tiny red diamond and the design was dotted on all four cardinal points by four more red diamonds. "This is the Dumbledore family ring. Each female wears this ring to prove the purity of their blood. The ring was created by Gwendolin, Merlin's wife, to contain magic from each generation of the Dumbledore women. The ring stores this magic forever and the power inside of it can be unleashed whenever you need it without diminishing the supply. This is a closely guarded secret of the family. All others see when they look at it is a pureblood family ring."

Hermione stared at the ring with renewed interest. She wondered when the she could possibly get to the library to do some research on Merlin and Gwendolin... though she should do it in secret, as she would be looking for information many would assume she should know.

"Take it, it is now yours." Dumbledore pressed the item into her hands and reached for the necklace. "This piece holds a similar story, only it contains magic from each male in the family to protect the women." How sexist! A strand of tiny jadeites shaped into beads and spaced with more rhodium joined at the centre to hold a large centrepiece of rhodium. A chunk of blue garnet shaped like another rose was held in the carved rhodium and bits of serendibite were scattered around the metal.

"They're absolutely beautiful, but too expensive! I can't take this!" Hermione recalled a fact that she had read in the papers about jadeite: one 0.55 millimetre bead had sold for 7,033,729.50 euros, and that sum of money was just way over her head.

"You will take them, otherwise no one will believe your claim," Dumbledore admonished. "And lastly, this comb. My father had this specially made for my mother before he went to prison. It is made out of meteorite and onyx." He smiled fondly at the memory, "I suppose I must have cared for you a great deal in the future."

Hermione smiled slightly "Yes, you looked out for me and my friends," she told him.

"All of these are yours. In fact, I have been told that you feel more complete with the items on your person." He offered them to her again, and for the entirely selfish reason of filling the gap in her soul that had come with the death of her friends, Hermione accepted the accessories.

She slid the ring on and felt warmth spread through her being, her heart, her soul. Dumbledore clasped the necklace together for her and she nearly saw stars from the influx of magic. "Wh-what's-?"

"If you were not a member of the Dumbledore family and pure of blood, heart and mind, the items would reject you. The overload of magic would consume you, kill you. You needed to have noble intentions, profound intellect and strong magic to live." Dumbledore confessed to her.

"What! You should have told me before!" Hermione shrieked angrily.

Her Fawkes squawked in accession. _"He should have told you, but he didn't think it necessary. He knew you would live." _

Dumbledore repeated nearly word for word what Fawkes had already informed her, and then she decided to ask the question that had been bothering her for the past five days. "Sir, is Fawkes.. well, Fawkes and I can talk to each other, or at least it feels like we are talking," she tried to explain.

His knowing smile returned, "You must share a strong bond with this phoenix," Dumbledore commented, "for you are able to read each other well. It is not so much a conversation you are having mentally, so much as it is you both observing each other. You are perfectly attuned to one another's facial expressions and their meanings. It is a rare connection that one may share with their familiar." He watched as Hermione -henceforth Heather- fingered the comb. "There is no doubt in my mind that the phoenix you possess is Fawkes, but I ask you: do you wish to change his name?"

Hermione looked at the bird on her shoulder. _'What do you want, Fawkes?'_

_"I like my name, but if you fancy giving me a new one, I am not opposed."_

_'Fawkes it stays, then.'_ Hermione decided: "Fawkes will keep his name, I think."

Dumbledore nodded in approval, "As long as you do not go around to the staff and tell them your phoenix's name you will be fine. No student knows my phoenix's name, so you are fine in that aspect. Now, your parents have just died -what were their names again?"

"Wendell and Sasha," Hermione said in an anguished tone.

"Perfect. Now you are exceedingly bright, so you may be collected by Professor Slughorn, our resident potions professor. Why would he want to collect you?"

"I am a pureblood witch, the distant offspring of Merlin himself. I am also the granddaughter of Abraham and Olivia, Albus Dumbledore's aunt and uncle. I am fairly intelligent. I cannot mention my O.W.L.s because I will be in fifth year though." Hermione realised. "I get to retake my O.W.L.s!?" She exclaimed.

"Yes, you do, Miss Dumbledore."

"Than I can get an Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts this time," Hermione beamed. "And maybe even take Muggle Studies again!"

"Yes, Miss Dumbledore, you may. Now, where is this other envelope?" Dumbledore inquired.

Hermione shoved nearly her entire arm into her pink bag and Dumbledore raised and eyebrow, "Undetectable Extension Charm," she prattled off. "Oh, bollocks!" She raised her wand "_Accio_ folder." The file with the Beauxbaton coat of arms embossed into it came flying out and into Hermione's waiting hand.

Dumbledore perused them with mild interest: "These are your actual school files, I suppose?"

Hermione made an affirmative noise.

"You have excellent marks," He rose and pulled out his wand. "Now we must go see Headmaster Dippet, though I suppose he will not be awake this early in the morning," Dumbledore mused, "regardless, I think we should alter your appearance so that when you arrive back in the future, the Dark Lord you are fighting will not recognise you. Are you aware that Olivia and Abraham lived in France for some time and that Sasha was born in France?"

"No, I wasn't."

"This is why you went to Beauxbatons, correct?"

"Yes, but I can speak English well because of my grandparents, hence the South-Eastern accent."

"Yes, but I think you should speak Queen's English instead," Dumbledore suggested, "Olivia and Abraham were not from Surrey like you."

Hermione nodded, "I reckon I should stick to more of a French accent for now and then gradually change to more of an English one,"

"A wonderful idea. Now to make you more unrecognisable..."

"Actually, I'd rather do it myself," Hermione said. "May I use your loo?" Hermione walked into the bathroom and up to the mirror. Sighing, she tapped her wand to her hair, ridding it of its frizziness, lengthening it and tinting it more of a red color. Now it didn't seem incredibly far-fetched that she was Dumbledore's niece. Her silky curls now reached her waist.

She tapped her clothes making them more suitable for the time period and made her skin a darker shade of tan. There. Hermione Granger was now unrecognisable.

Hermione Granger had never cared much about her appearance, but Heather Dumbledore would- to an extent. Hermione forced herself to smile. Hermione Granger may not be happy, but Heather Dumbledore had no reason not to be.

Heather Dumbledore would need to be everything Hermione Granger wasn't, everything that she had run away from; Heather Dumbledore was going to be an absolute girl.

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**A/N: Alright, "Christofori's Dream" is by David Lanz and in my opinion, really captures how whimsical time travel is.**

**Reviews make authoress happy. Happy authoress updates faster. Faster updates means more material to read. More material to read means happy readers. You do the maths :)**


	4. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 3

Only the Good are Weak

**Disclaimer:** I am secretly J.K Rowling. There. I admitted it. I wanted to write about my own book because I made a mistake in making Hermione and Ron get together and I needed a way to rectify it without openly admitting that I was wrong. You see, Hermione was born in the wrong century...

JK.

Cheers!

**A/N:** 726 views! That is just marvellous! As promised, Voldie is in this one! Also; I like reviews. It's nice to know what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong. So please tell me and then I can fix anything you don't like or add more of what you lot like. Final point: I DO NOT SPEAK FRENCH. I am taking Spanish. I ran it through a translating application online, but they aren't the most reliable. So if anyone would like to offer their services as a translator, that would be much appreciated!

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**Chapter 3: Suite No. 1 in G major, BWV 1007**

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"A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions."

-Oliver Wendell Holmes

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**Transfiguration Room 1B, 1942, 7:00:**

Hermione Granger and her distant relative, Professor Albus Dumbledore, went over her back story until she knew it forwards, backwards, upside down, and any other way imaginable.

If anyone asked, which they might, her parents, Wendell and Sasha Dumbledore, had recently died, leaving her the choice of living with her Uncle Aberforth or Uncle Albus. She had chosen Albus so that she may experience a different school in which no one would pity her for her loss.

Like her other family members, Heather Dumbledore would be well-suited for Gryffindor with her strong sense of pride and vast amount of bravery.

After a game of wizarding chess in which Hermione lost, she finally asked her uncle the question that had been plaguing her. "Uncle Albus," for now that it was breakfast time, there was no knowing when a student may come in. "How much do you know?"

"Enough. Why exactly did the boy fail at killing your Dark Lord?"

Apparently he hadn't been given any names. "We didn't destroy all of his Horcruxes." Hermione bowed her head in shame.

"You will succeed this time," Dumbledore comforted her, "do not worry."

Hermione frowned, "I suppose."

"Let's go see Headmaster Dippet," Dumbledore suggested, "we can get you sorted."

"Isn't he at breakfast?" Hermione asked as she matched the professor's long strides, recognising that they were indeed on their way to the Great Hall.

"Yes."

"Will I be Sorted at breakfast then?"

"We will do what Dippet wants."

"Okay," Hermione stopped as Dumbledore opened the door and then resumed her steps in a calm, elegant manner.

Surprisingly enough, a lot of kids were there for how early it was in the morning. With a pang in her heart, Hermione recalled that Harry and Ron wouldn't have been in before seven thirty.

The whispers started as soon as she entered the room:

"Who's she?"

"Is she new?"

"Did she get in trouble?"

"What house is she in?"

"She's new, you twat."

"Right. Well, what house do you reckon she'll be in?"

"She looks like a Hufflepuff."

"Gryffindor."

"Ravenclaw."

"Slytherin."

Hermione -Heather- ignored them, staring straight ahead imperiously. All eyes were on her and Dumbledore while they approached the staff table and exchanged words with Dippet.

Then something came zooming through the doors and past the rows of students. It was the Sorting Hat.

Dippet stood and waited for everyone to quiet down, though he said nothing to discourage the chatter. The ordeal took about ten minutes. Dumbledore could have had it done in seconds.

"Good morning, students. Today we are pleased to welcome Hogwarts's newest student, Miss Heather Dumbledore. Miss Dumbledore is our esteemed Transfiguration teacher's niece and is transferring here from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France. We will now Sort her."

Hermione obligingly took the rickety stool that was offered to her and the ratty old Sorting Hat was placed on her head.

_"Hmm, Miss Dumbledore, or rather Miss Granger. Haven't I sorted you before?"_

_'Yes,'_ Hermione acknowledged,_ 'but that doesn't happen for another fifty years. How did you know?'_

_"The Sorting Hat knows all,"_ the Hat answered,_ "now let's get down to business. From the last time I saw you, you have changed much, Miss Granger."_ He commented.

_'Yeah, I have, but I am still a Gryffindor-'_

_"No,"_ the Sorting Hat disagreed, "Hermione Granger _was a Gryffindor. Hermione Granger_ will be _a Gryffindor._ Heather Dumbledore, _on the other hand, is not suited for Gryffindor. Heather Dumbledore is the changed Hermione Granger and Heather Dumbledore must be sorted into a different, more fitting house."_

_'So I will not be in Gryffindor?'_

_"You have practised Dark Magic, Miss Dumbledore. You have read all of the books in the entire library. You are consumed by logic, but the war has made you more cunning, more devious. Yes, this time it will come down to Ravenclaw and Slytherin, Miss Dumbledore."_

_'You can just sort me into Hufflepuff and save yourself the time."_ Hermione advised smartly, '_a sort of compromise. I'd even go willingly.'_

The hat laughed boisterously and the students looked at it oddly as it did so.

_"Gryffindor humor showing through, but it's still between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Nice try, Miss Dumbledore. Let's see; your morals are intact, still a strong amount of bravery and pride..."_

"Better be- RAVENCLAW!" The hat shouted.

Polite applause sounded from every table but the one clad in green and silver, especially from the small number of Ravenclaw girls. Hermione would have to ask about that later. Now that she was looking, the Slytherin house appeared to be the same way; very few women.

Hermione thanked Merlin and pulled the Hat off, passing it to Headmaster Dippet.

"Well this is brilliant!" Dippet gushed, "now we will have your head of house," he gestured to a tall woman whose makeup was over-the-top. She was dressed in a flowing midnight blue number with a deep v-neck and a ruched skirt that began where the V ended (the bottom's of her breasts). "Professor Chastity."

The woman in question rose without a word and began to sway out of the Great Hall without saying a word. Hermione hugged Albus quickly and followed the slag of a teacher with the grace and poise of a swan.

Hermione Granger had been a bit clumsy, but Heather Dumbledore was to carry herself with dignity. After careful deliberation, she and Dumbledore had agreed that Heather was trained in classical dance at Beauxbatons. This wouldn't be a problem since Hermione had taken dance classes after her fourth year. She had been a natural.

"Well, Miss Dumbledore, just because you are Albus's niece, I will not give you special treatment. Are we clear?" She inquired breezily once they had entered the Divination room.

The area had tall candelabras with cream coloured candles in various sizes tucked into every nook and cranny. The high, arched windows were inclosed in heavy crimson drapes, disallowing light from coming in, and the floor -which would have been grey, normally- was midnight blue. All of the furniture was dark ebony (it clashed with the floor horribly) and a vaulted ceiling had obviously been magically implemented, contrasting from the Divination Tower of her time. Bookshelves with ancient tomes covered half of the walls and every available surface was littered with decaying skulls.

There were only about twenty desks in the room, grouped in twos and facing a large desk that must have belonged to Chastity and a blackboard. Chastity's desk was massive, and strewn across it were more skulls and candles. From the aforementioned ceiling hung a medieval style wooden chandler.

All in all, it looked ridiculous and completely, over exaggeratedly, theatrical.

Hermione nodded in ascension.

"Great. I am Professor Chastity and I am the Divination teacher," Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at the unsurprising revelation. "Today you will be assessed on your abilities in all of the 12 courses. Basically every one that you pass will be added to your course list, regardless of whether or not you want to take it."

Hermione wondered if this was actually a rule or if Professor Chastity didn't care enough to take her opinion into consideration.

"You will take the tests in my room. We will call a house-elf at lunch so that you may eat. If you are not finished by my last class, you will come back here after dinner to complete your examinations."

"_Merci_, Professor Chastity," Hermione said graciously, slipping into her French accent. "I am ready to begin." Though that wasn't entirely true; Hermione hadn't eaten since October 1, 1998.

"Nonsense," said Professor Chastity kindly, now assured that Hermione wouldn't use her connection with Dumbledore as an excuse. "We'll call a house-elf and have some scones and tea," she snapped her fingers ostentatiously and a tiny house-elf appeared, deposited the food, and then vanished.

Hermione picked up a blueberry scone and devoured it, causing Professor Chastity to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

Hermione drank some of the cinnamon tea and picked up another scone. Professor Chastity did the same, though she nipped at it daintily and dabbed her lips afterwards. Of course she needed to re-apply her lipstick then, which led to her fixing her hair (which was dyed a very fake shade of bright red) and readjusting her dress.

Not soon after, Hermione was ready to take her tests. Classes came and left, lunch passed (Hermione ate some more, and Chastity watched disgusted) and classes started again. Hermione didn't pay Chasity any attention -other than to have lunch with her- as focused on her work as she was.

When the class before dinner started, Hermione was finishing her final essay on the Switching spell, a question that had been on her O.W.L.s in fifth year. Nothing on the exams had surprised her, even the Divination one, and she was certain that she had passed with flying colours. All of them with flying colours. This was of course because of her quest for knowledge whilst she had been in her time in the destroyed castle, but that wasn't what was bothering her: she was going to have to take Divination...

She thought about purposely doing horribly at the assessment but -being a Ravenclaw and a morally righteous Gryffindor- couldn't do so in good conscience.

Unfortunately, that was the class that Tom Riddle had, and when she finished, Professor Chastity forced her to join in on the lesson. The only empty seat was next to Tom. Needless to say, Hermione wasn't sure if she would be able to _not_ kill him.

Hermione, however, had no reason to hate Tom. "Good afternoon," she greeted him, making certain not to gaze into his eyes. She was good at Occlumency (Dumbledore was a Legilimens and had tested her earlier), but she didn't want You-Know-Who to find that out too soon. Who knew when he'd learned Legilimency. Her skin was crawling at the sight of the future Dark Lord, and she clenched her hands in an effort not to punch him. Balling her fists probably wasn't a fantastic idea though, as she was now in prime position to carry out the act.

What really got to her was his appearance. She knew he and Harry were distantly related through the Peverell brothers, but this was mental. His hair was the exact shade of her late best mate, his eyes the same startling green. That may have been the end of their similarities, but it was enough to make her magic surge uncontrollably.

She calmed down when a humorous idea entered her mind: what if Riddle had killed Harry because he was jealous that his delving into the Dark Arts had made him lose his good looks?

Her amusement ended just as quickly as it had started. The young Lord Voldemort was not attractive.

"Ah, Miss Dumbledore, a pleasure to meet you," true to the future Dumbledore's words, Tom Riddle was indeed polite, or at least falsely so. "I assume you have completed your testing?" His voice was smooth, velvety and completely charming. It hid his true identity perfectly.

Hermione nodded, "I am sorry, but may I ask your name? It seems that you know mine, but it is odd to converse with someone whose name I don't know." She had to keep up appearances after all.

"My name is Tom Riddle," he leaned forward to place a feather light kiss on the back of her hand and Hermione caught a glimpse of the prefects badge and the spicy scent of his cologne. "What house have you been sorted into, Miss Dumbledore?" Hermione's hand was burning from where he had placed his mouth and a disgusted shudder travelled down her spine. Tom smirked, obviously thinking it was due to something else.

"Ravenclaw," Hermione answered, "I see you are in Slytherin?"

"That would be what the green, sliver and the snake mean," he responded dryly. "Have you taken Divination before?"

"Once," Hermione admitted, "in third year at Beauxbatons. My teacher? _Elle était horrible, une fraude._ A horrid teacher, an absolute fraud. I never took it again." Hermione spoke quickly and lightly.

Voldemort junior laughed vapidly, "This class is amusing, you'll see." He told her.

Hermione gave him a tight smile and turned to Professor Chastity as she walked dramatically through the double doors. They slammed into the walls on either side and then swung shut of their own accord whilst the candles flared up and then dimmed again.

Hermione laughed under her breath at the display.

Tom leaned closer to her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear: "It gets better." He murmured -dare she say it- seductively.

And did it ever.

"Today, class, we will be examining the relationship between crystal balls and the crystals with which they were made" -she waved her hands about in a conscious fashion- "which causes their different properties. We will be doing this by blood smears!"

Tom chuckled softly at Hermione's disbelieving look. "You haven't heard the best part."

"Actually, her method doesn't surprise me in the least, just that I haven't noticed all day what was happening," Hermione explained.

_'Fawkes, you there?'_ Hermione thought. She had sent the bird to the Owlery, to which he had greatly protested, at the beginning of the day, but now she longed for his company. Especially with this madness.

_"Yeah, do you need me?"_ Fawkes replied sleepily.

_'No, go back to sleep.'_

"As I was saying, we will be using blood smears to-"

"We use blood smears to find out everything." Riddle warned her, "but it's bloody hysterical."

"Let me guess,_ elle est un vampire_," Hermione ventured with a frown, and then seeing Riddle's expression: "she is a vampire?"

Tom smirked mischievously, "Indeed, although it usually takes new students longer to figure that out."

_"Je ne suis pas normale._ You'll find that I am not like most students, _Monsieur_ Riddle," Hermione turned her nose at him in distaste that he mistook for a joke._ Oh my Godric, does he think I'm flirting with him!?_

"_Dumbledore said he was good with women,_" Fawkes asserted helpfully. _"So it wouldn't be surprising..."_

_'Shut up, Fawkes.'_

"You will be partnered with the person sitting next to you-"

Riddle winked.

_'Oh Godric, is he flirting back!?'_

_"Yup,"_ Fawkes popped the 'p'.

_'Shut up, Fawkes!'_

"Go get your supplies."

"I've got it," Riddle said, getting up and walking to the front desk. He retrieved a crystal ball, a piece of paper, and a positively wicked looking knife. "So basically, the only thing that you will learn in this class is how to cut yourself. Wonderful things they are teaching us here," Riddle commented.

He placed the knife in front of her, ripped the paper scrap in two, put that in front of her and slid the crystal ball between them. He pulled out a thick textbook, opened to page three hundred ninety-four and grinned. "Ladies first." He offered the blade to her, hilt first, and said: "Just slash your hand and then heal it."

Hermione took it cautiously, half expecting him to cut her with it like Bellatrix had, and turned it over in her hands. She ran a finger along the blade, _"le couteau est terne_." She drew it across her hand quickly, leaving a moderately deep wound, and instantly Professor Chastity was there.

She leaned over as Hermione dragged her hand across the paper, a hungry look in her eye. Hermione drew her wand across the cut, knitting the skin back together with a nonverbal.

Disappointment replaced Chastity's blood thirst and she moved to the next duo.

"Nonverbal," Tom raised his eyebrows, "nice." He repeated the actions and the two sat in silence for a moment. "So, where are you from, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Paris," she replied shortly, turning her gaze away as though that warranted no further questioning.

"What made you decide to come here?"

"My- my parents died," Hermione was glad that she had thought not to blink whilst she had her head facing away from him, as she was able to display her teary eyes to him now that she was back in his field of view.

"I'm sorry," Voldemort -yes ladies and gentleman, Voldemort- apologised. For what it's worth, it lacked emotion.

"Why do people always apologise for things that can't possibly be their fault?" Hermione inquired blankly, allowing a single tear to fall.

"It is human nature, I suppose," Riddle answered, which struck her as incredibly ironic; what would a sociopath who committed mass genocide know about being human?

"What next?" Hermione added a slightly desperate edge as though eager to change the topic.

Tom shrugged, "I suppose we should try using the crystal ball now. Are you by any chance a Seer?"

Hermione snorted. "_Aucune manière dans l'enfer._"

"Tsk, tsk, language, Miss Dumbledore." Riddle clucked his tongue.

"You speak French?" Hermione asked.

"_Oui. Je parle le français couramment_. So, are you a Legilimens then? Occlumens?"

"_Vous parlez français?_" Hermione put on a confused face as though she had only just realised the other half of what he'd said. "I'm sorry, what?"

Tom's smirk returned, "Oh, nothing."

Hermione pretended to shrug it off, "Well then, you first, Riddle."

"Riddle now, is it?"

"Don't flatter yourself, it's easier to say."

"Does this mean I can call you 'Dumbledore'?"

Hermione snorted. "_Si vous souhaitez que les balles de rester attaché à votre corps, non._"

"Was that a sexual innuendo?"

Hermione only laughed. "I just met you. Do you really expect me fancy you? For all I know, you could the Heir of Slytherin!" Immediately, she wished to take that back; he was going to open the Chamber of Secrets this year and could set the basilisk on her.

"Most girls do." Tom narrowed his eyes which had suddenly turned even darker and more malevolent, "If I am, then you had best be afraid, hadn't you?" The mood lightened as he pushed some of his dark, wavy hair out of his eyes. "Let's go to dinner together, yeah?"

It wasn't so much a question as it was an order. "I suppose." Hermione conceded, meeting his eyes for the first time.

Instantly she felt a dark, ominous force at her mental barriers attempting to get in. Instead of panicking and tightening up the door to her mind, Hermione let her shields go slowly and pushed all of her thoughts on the ridiculous Divination lesson.

A frown crossed Riddle's features for the briefest of moments before a carefully arranged smile overcame it, "Excellent."

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**A/N:** I feel like this song really fits the mood of this chapter :)


	5. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 4

Only the Good are Weak

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

**A/N:** 1,371 views. This is just bloody _wicked_. You have no idea. Tommy returns in this one, along with some new characters. Please review! They keep me going.

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**Chapter 4: Dance of the Knights**

* * *

"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."

― Rose Kennedy

* * *

**The Astronomy Tower, 1942, 18:00:**

Hermione waited for Voldemort to pack up anxiously. She fidgeted as he took his time, the last one to leave, and sauntered through the door.

"It is so kind of you to show me around the castle," Hermione chirped, extending his offer in the safety of other students so that he could not refuse.

"Why Miss Dumbledore, if I had to venture a guess, I'd say that you are trying to force yourself on me," he laughed amicably. "Come, allow me to show you the library."

Hermione became slightly scared when he led her astray from the other students and down a route she happened to know did not lead to the library. For her part, Hermione managed not to point this out and could only hope that he wouldn't kill her.

_'Fawkes?'_

_"I'm on standby just in case."_ Fawkes reassured her, but it did nothing to settle her nausea.

She allowed Riddle to guide her into an empty classroom. Fear clawed at her heart and Hermione almost cried; if she failed, all of her friends would die! Hermione couldn't let that happen at all. "This isn't the-"

"You're right, it's not," Tom cut her off coldly, "this is where you will tell me everything that you know and who you really are."

_"Je ne sais pas ce que vous entendez,"_ Hermione trailed off and raised her hands._ 'Fawkes!'_

"Don't you dare lie to me, Miss Dumbledore. Or is that even your real name?" Voldemort, his eyes gleaming red for a moment, grabbed her around her waist and slammed her against the wall with ease.

Hermione tried to hold her own, she really did. Drawing her wand with war-sharpened reflexes, she shoved it at his throat.

Riddle's eyes narrowed even more and he wrested it out of her grip. He had their position reversed in mere seconds, both of her hands clasped roughly in his one.

_"Dammit! The doors are closed and there are no windows big enough!"_ Fawkes finally came back to her

Riddle leaned into her further, his body digging into hers. Hermione was drowning in the scent of him. What on earth cologne could he be wearing that smelled so damn enticing? But in the end, her disgust in him won out to her attraction as a female to the male population.

His head tilted to the side as he stared her in the eyes, "I am a Legilimens, Miss Dumbledore, I suggest you tell me the easy way, for I'm damn sure you won't want me to do it my preferred way," he hissed.

"Aren't you worried that I will tell everyone?" Hermione asked, struggling more. It didn't help that Riddle was muscled in all of the right places, and not the steroids kind of muscles. Honest to Godric muscles. Hermione almost moaned at the contact. How one managed to get muscles like that when he lived in an orphanage, Hermione would never know, but his physical strength made it impossible to escape.

_'Can't phoenixes teleport?'_

Riddle laughed sexily and Hermione blushed puce. Then he said in a sibilant tone: "That is what memory charms are for, Miss Dumbledore."

"You're just paranoid," Hermione said sarcastically.

"No, I am cautious," Riddle closed his eyes and when he opened them, they shown ruby. "Do try to resist, that always makes it better."

_"I have to break the wards first and that will take ten minutes max."_

_Shite_. Hermione felt him enter her mind for the second time today and forced thoughts of what his proximity was doing to her into the front of her head instead. She assaulted his brain viciously; after all, doors opened both ways...

Riddle launched himself out of her head immediately and laughed. "So the truth is revealed; Miss Dumbledore hates me," He brushed his lips against her ear slowly. Hermione shivered. "For what reason, I wonder? Regardless, you must tell me what I have asked to know."

_'Now would be a good-'_

_"I'm working on it!"_

Riddle moved away suddenly and swung her onto the floor, snarling: "_Crucio_."

Hermione screamed in pain, but his next spell canceled her cries. "_Silencio_."

_"I've almost- Hermione!?"_

Hermione had been under the Cruciatus curse before, the handiwork of Bellatrix Lestrange, but it hadn't been this bad. It was so much worse coming from Voldemort; it felt as though he had invented the curse.

Knives stabbed sharply at her abdomen, her internal organs. GODRIC!

_"HERMIONE! I'M COMING, HOLD ON!"_

Just as abruptly as the torture started, it ended, leaving her gasping for breath and in the fetal position.

"_Finite Incantatem._ Tell me." Riddle repeated, sounding joyous at her reaction. "Tell me and you will be able to leave unharmed."

"You-you have already h-harm-harmed me," Hermione reminded him.

"Silly little girl." Riddle scowled, his hand cracking across her cheek. "You will do well to abide me. Now tell me and I will spare you any further harm."

_"Je ne sais pas quoi que ce soit."_ Hermione whispered.

"Is that really the choice you will make?" Riddle gave a disdainful shake of his head.

Hermione remained silent.

"Very well," Riddle sighed, nearly sounding reluctant. "It's too late now."

_"Where are you?"_

_'It's too late.'_ Hermione parroted Voldemort.

_"Silencio. Crucio."_

The sensations returned and then retreated a minute later.

_"Legilimens,"_ he murmured.

_"Where, Hermione!"_ Fawkes frantically questioned again.

She made herself appear younger. Then Hermione let Riddle in again and allowed him to see her and Ron kissing, though in front of a Christmas tree instead of the Chamber of Secrets. Memories of Tonks and Remus with little Teddy flashed by. Her parents weaved their way into her thoughts and she let him see the gravestones of Lily and James Potter, altering the engravement to last year, the names to Sasha and Wendell Dumbledore. She turned Harry into Neville in her memories and showed her conjuring a wreath for her deceased patriarchs and crying on his shoulder instead of the other way around.

"What are you hiding, Miss Dumbledore?" Tom wondered as he retracted from her again.

_"WHERE!?"_ Fawkes demanded hysterically.

_'He has gotten all that he should.'_ Hermione revealed her location to the phoenix and lay waiting.

"Nevermind, I shall find out later." Riddle brushed his robes off pretentiously and spat: "_Finite Incantatem_. Until we meet again. _Stupefy_. _Obliviate_."

What Riddle didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Hermione flicked her hand and thought "_Protego apsorbeo!_" Fiercely as Voldemort uttered his last two spells and exited.

* * *

Sara Lucas was very alone as she strolled through the empty corridors. She had no plausible explanation for her sudden desire to do so, but here she was, alone and walking.

All of the other students would be at dinner, she knew, and that was fine by her. She preferred to be by herself anyway, and she never really ate to begin with, as consumed by her research as she was. She was nearing the Astronomy Tower and she knew without a doubt that this had been her final destination all along.

She made her way resolutely up the stairs and edged towards the railing. There was no one here. She could end it all right now. All of the horror that _Voldemort_ had caused would just disappear with her death. But then no one would be left to protect her sisters.

Still though, the relief would be instantaneous, there would only be a brief moment of fear and then- SPLAT! she would be dead.

She carefully edged her way over the railing, standing on the very edge and breathing in the night air. The full moon was glowing, an ostensibly ominous mood settling over the chilly October atmosphere.

She let go when she had her balance, just standing there.

_Only three more years._

And then she would be free.

"What are you doing?" It was Tom. Of course it was Tom- it was always him.

"What do you think I'm doing?" She replied sarcastically.

"I think that you are trying to break our agreement." He growled, roughly yanking her back to safety, "and I can't have my greatest investment broken, now can I?"

"Broken as in dead?" Sara laughed humorlessly, "we both know that once you are through with me, you will kill me."

"Shame, too, considering your intelligence, Miss Lucas, but you might run your mouth to Dumbledore." Tom was walking circles around her, his wand travelling from her shoulder to her neck to her opposite shoulder, tracing her collarbone and then back again. "The question now is which one," he continued.

"What if I promised not to?" Sara questioned, her eyes closed as he prodded her cheek harshly with the tip of the wood.

"Do tell me more about this... promise." His voice lazily sounded to her left.

"You have said it yourself; I share in your intelligence, your cunning," she began, "and we are already as close as can be."

He chuckled at that, "We are not close, Sara."

"And yet we share our magic out of the bond, our thoughts, our feelings-"

"Don't get started on _that_ again. It almost seems to me that you are attempting to rationalize with yourself that I _care_ about you." He sneered, his expression arranged into something darker.

"But you do. After all, you can't stand to be away from me," and out came to play the real Sara, a smirk set firmly on her mouth.

And with the real Sara came Voldemort. He slammed her head into the wall behind her by her hair, striking twice before letting her go.

The Ravenclaw's hand flew to the back of her head and she winced when the digits came back bloody, "Goddamn it, Tommy," she muttered, easily repairing the damage with a flick of her wrist.

"I did not come here to fight with you, _sweetheart_," the endearment was bitter, as both of them hated it. "But I need a favour."

"Let me guess: it's about Dumbledore's niece." Sara mused, "now what you want me to do to that poor girl I don't know-"

"I don't want you to do anything," he chuckled, "I daresay I have her under my control."

"Oh dear, Tommy, what have you done?" Sara snickered.

"Nothing permanent," his smug look said it all, "keep an eye on her."

"You want me to befriend her."

"Well, she _is_ in your dorm."

"Very well, my lord," Sara agreed.

"As to your earlier idea," Riddle thought aloud, "I will consider it."

"You mean that you will consider me," Sara suppressed her shudder at the thought of being closer to him. Closer than she already was. But Dumbledore had given her his orders.

He gave a nod, "And this is why I will consider you. You are my equal in everything."

"Is that a yes?"

"I never said that."

"It was implied, my lord."

"Then yes, _my lady, _consider yourself my right hand. My Dark Lady."

With a sweep of his school robes, Tom Marvolo Riddle was gone. Unable to hold her stomach in anymore, Sara lurched over to the railing and promptly lost her lunch.

_What had Dumbledore talked her into?_

* * *

**Entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower, 1942, 18:45:**

_"Here there is no north, west, nor east - and weather fit for not man nor beast."_ The eagle knocker requested.

"The North Pole." Hermione replied flatly, answering one of the famous riddles from the Sphinx.

_Fawkes appeared and began crying at her state. Though Hermione wasn't outwardly hurt, she was bleeding internally and harboured a few broken ribs._

The door swung open and Hermione walked through the doors, making her way to the girl's dormitory and completely disregarding the appearance of the common room. The dorm was decorated lavishly with sapphire blue and and bronze accents. The beds were made of a honey walnut and polished to shine.

In the very back of the room there was a lone bed, her belongings sitting at the foot. Hermione made her way over there, picked up her trunk and then rooted through it in search of the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak.

_Fawkes began crying and dripped the tears into Hermione's mouth, healing her internal injuries__**. "He could have killed you."**_

**_'I know.'_**

**_"Where do you need to go?"_**

**_'The Ravenclaw common room.'_**

**_"I already broke the wards, so I'll teleport you there."_**

Hermione put on the Cloak and exited her dorm. She went to leave the common room, but was stopped when she saw two students talking in front of the door.

"Why do you think Tom was asking about her?"

"You don't think he fancies her, do you?"

"I hope not! That would be awful!"

"We need to prepare in case he does." One said grimly.

"Should I tell the others?"

"Yes, alert everyone."

Hermione made a face at that. _What in Rowena's name were they talking about?_

"What alert level is this?"

"Code Blue."

"Not Code Black yet?"

"We don't know for sure. This travesty requires some delicacy. We need to do reconnaissance. Liz, tell Marisa, Hannah and Sara and we'll have them look through the new girl's things for clues. Contact Kim and have her and her girls spy on their interactions."

"We're getting the Hufflepuffs involved?" Inquired Liz.

"Kim's not a Hufflepuff, you idiot! I said everyone, and Hufflepuffs aren't worth anything! I want Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, ghosts, portraits! Everyone _but_ the Hufflepuffs."

Fangirls were scary...possibly even more frightening than Tom Riddle.

"Celeste, you're terrifying." Liz deadpanned.

"Did I say you could call me by my first name, Captain Lucas?"

"No, General Lovegood, sir. I mean ma'am! Yeah, ma'am!" Liz corrected herself frantically.

What? Lovegood? This was Luna's relative?!

"We are in wartime." General- er... Celeste Lovegood said seriously.

"B-but General Lovegood, you said that we needed to do more spying! You said we were at Code Blue!"

"Consider it Code Black!" Shouted Celeste.

"General, if that is the case, you are no longer in charge." Stated powerfully as she appeared in front of the two. Her very presence screamed command. "As you have claimed it wartime, and I am General of the Army, _I_ outrank you."

"Sara!" Liz exclaimed. "I was just going to get you!"

"No need for that, I am here. Colonel Hannah!"

These three had to be sisters. The one named Liz, though wearing a full palette of make-up, had darker hair than her sisters and chocolate coloured eyes, but the same small nose, full lips and high cheekbones of her sisters. She was short at somewhere between 151 and 152 centimetres. Hannah was about the same height, in possession of pale gray eyes, nearly translucent skin and thin, wispy straight brown hair. Sara was average in appearance, though really tall 170 centimetres at least. Her skin was slightly more tan then her siblings, her thick, wavy hair the colour of Liz's eyes. Her own orbs shown an emerald green that reminded her -once again- of Harry and Voldemort.

"Yes, General?" Hannah inquired.

"Record this-" Hannah transfigured a book into a quill and pad, enchanted like Rita Skeeter's- "General Celeste Lovegood is hereby demoted to Lieutenant General Celeste Lovegood, as it is wartime."

"Yes, General."

"At ease, soldiers, at ease. We are all friends, no?"

Celeste glowered at that. She was obviously jealous of who held the power in the situation.

"Major Marissa, show yourself!" Sara smiled.

Celeste waved her arms around, "So you were all here the whole time!"

"We were practicing Disillusionment Charms," said someone that must be Marissa. "We are fifth years, you know."

"This isn't fair! I'm a seventh year! I should be the General in wartime."

"Colonel?"

"I'm on it. Lieutenant General Celeste Lovegood is hereby demoted to _Specialist_-" at Sara's shake of head she backtracked- "scratch that, _Private_ Celeste Lovegood of the Fangirl Army. Contact Lieutenant General's Kim, Amy, and Camellia with the news."

Celeste gave an outraged squawk and went upstairs, nearly running into Hermione.

"_Achtung_." Sara murmured.

The three remaining saluted.

Sara smirked. "Good work, my fellow quadruplets. Now to assign your tasks. Hannah; you must breach enemy lines, become friends with this 'Heather Dumbledore'. Marissa, you are our resident curse-worker and prankster. Get Septimus Weasley and Evan Prewett and start plotting with all of the other Majors in the ranks. Liz, you and the other Captains need to up your sex appeal, start really working on seducing The Target."

The girls all left as soon as they were charged with their jobs, leaving Sara alone.

"_Homenum Revelio._" Sara waved her hand lazily. "Just as I suspected. Miss Dumbledore, reveal yourself." She said dryly. "I am not your enemy. I just lead the idiots so that they don't do _too_ much damage. My sisters are the same way... well, except for Liz, but she's just a major slag."

"Since you already are aware of my presence." Hermione whipped of the Cloak.

"Disillusionment Charm?" Was she stupid? Or was it just a more probable that she had used a spell than that she had a rare Invisibility Cloak?

"_Oui_."

"Perfect. Hannah is curious about who you are and where you come from. She didn't want to befriend you, lest she irritate one of our other members, so I gave her cause to do so. She will be a good friend to you, as will I and my other sisters. I will leave you with my proposition. Marissa should keep things from going too far in her branch, so you will be fine. In fact, she will probably get Weasley and Prewett to make sure all of the plans malfunction somehow." Sara turned to leave, calling over her shoulder: "I am Sara Lucas, a friend of Tom Riddle's. Find me when you have your answer."

Sara seemed relatively nice, but more suited for Slytherin... Harry was supposed to be sorted into Slytherin.

All of the sudden, Hermione was overwhelmed with the events of the past six months. All of her friends had died! She'd gone fifty years in the past, taken tests all day and been tortured by a young, sadistic psychopath. She had an army of fangirls after her for Godric's sake!

Hermione found herself on the floor crying pitifully. With another muffled sob, she pulled herself up and threw the Cloak on, on her way to her original destination; the kitchens.

* * *

Hermione approached the portrait of the bowl of fruit and tickled the pear, still crying shamelessly, though now under the comfort of the Silencing Charm. She didn't take off the Cloak until she was safely in the confines of the kitchens, but still removed it too early.

Tom fucking Riddle was sitting at the table casually eating an apple. He glanced up, "Miss Dumbledore, just who I was thinking about."

* * *

**A/N:** This song is darker, and so I felt it suited the mood. If anyone is curious, no, **this will not be a Tom/OC fic, nor will it be a Happy Ending fic.**

There is a reason to Sara and Tom's *ahem* _relationship_ and it was not a choice that either of them made... at the time.

Cheers!


	6. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 5

Only the Good are Weak

**Disclaimer**: All settings, characters and plot developments you recognise belong to JK, not me. Sara, Marissa, Hannah, Liz, Celeste and any other person you don't recognise belongs to me. I don't make any sort of currency for producing this.

**A/N:** 2,148 views! Cheers! First thing's first; I have a slide show of what the characters in this story look like. Next: every five chapters, I will hold a Q&A session in which I will answer any questions about the characters, where the plot is going and if any of you are so inclined, _moi_. (I just utilised my limited French...) As always, I DON'T SPEAK THE LANGUAGE. Any corrections are welcome, and reviews DO keep me going.

Thanks to **Hermione Voldemort Riddle**, and **Kate Elizabeth Black** for reviewing!

Special thanks to **FalconLux** whose four kind reviews gave me motivation to go back through this chapter and add on. Also to _Guest_ for pointing out that half of fifty-six is not -in fact- twenty-three, but twenty-eight. I do know how to do my maths, but I had originally planned for this story to take place when Voldie was 25 and out of school, hence the discrepancy. I did go back and fix it though.

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Thanks to **123212321, DisasterousAngel, JesseLou, MrsSomerhalder10, starless-night23, FalconLux** and** Citrina **for following.

**Chapter 5: Vivaldi's Four Seasons- Winter**

* * *

"It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not."

― André Gide, _Autumn Leaves_

* * *

**The Kitchens, 1942, 19:30:**

Taking advantage of Heather's stunned silence, Tom rose, and walked over to her: "You've been crying, Miss Dumbledore," He reached up as if to brush her tears away, but Hermione snapped to her senses and leaped away.

"What are you playing at, Tom Marvolo Riddle?" Hermione growled angrily, regretting what she had said immediately. Hermione Granger knew as much as there was to know about Tom Riddle, but Heather Dumbledore had just met him today.

Riddle's eyes darkened marginally. "How do you know my middle name?"

Hermione scrambled for an excuse, "Your friend Sara Lucas told me. Well, she didn't really tell me, she was talking to her sisters, or rather commanding them, which reminds me, she should be a Slytherin, and it slipped out."

Riddle chuckled, probably attributing her nervousness to her hatred of him. "You're rambling."

So he believed her excuse. Thank Godric.

"Sorry, I'm not used to people seeing me cry," Hermione admitted carefully, feeling him skim her mind when she locked eyes with him. She pushed thoughts of her dead "parents" -Sasha and Wendell- to the front of her mind and felt him withdraw.

"How did you get here, anyway?" Riddle asked politely, though suspicion took a backseat in his tone.

"Sara told me how after she finished ordering her sisters around." Hermione lied quickly.

"Sara is an intelligent girl, it's not surprising that she knows how to get here, especially considering she is friends with Weasley and Prewett." Tom reasoned.

Hermione nodded.

"So, Disillusionment Charm?" He questioned nonchalantly.

"Yes."

"You must have scored well on your tests." Tom commented, taking his seat again. He gestured towards the chair next to him. "Have a seat, Dumbledore."

Hermione did as he requested and instantly a house-elf came up to her. "What is Miss wanted?" A tiny house-elf asked.

"Some chocolate, if you don't mind." Chocolate reminded her of Lupin. Chocolate was supposed to make you feel better.

"Yes, Miss, rights away."

"So, what brings you here?" Hermione propped her hand on her cheek and rested her elbow against the table.

"I fancied an apple." He raised the green apple and took a final bite. "_Evanesco_." He vanished the core. "What about you?"

The house-elf re-appeared with the chocolate.

"Thanks." Hermione took the sweet.

"Youse are welcome, Miss."

Hermione frowned. "_Je ne me souviens pas_. I missed dinner because when I woke up I was alone in an abandoned classroom in excruciating pain. I don't know what happened before that, but I managed to find my way to the Hospital Wing. I got patched up, went to Ravenclaw Tower and then came here."

"Oh, are you alright?" He sounded genuinely concerned. Bastard.

"_Oui_, I'm fine now." Hermione pretended shrugged it off.

"If you need anything, just tell me." Riddle put a hand on her shoulder. "If you're done with your chocolate, I can walk you back to your dorm." Though it should have been a question, it came out like a demand.

"That's quite alright, _Monsieur_ Riddle, I can look after myself."

"I insist-"

"No, _Monsieur_ Riddle, I must insist. I wish to be alone." Her reply was terse. Dismissive.

Riddle shut his mouth, looking distinctly pissed, "Alright, well I'll see you tomorrow in class."

Hermionewaited for twenty minutes and then left herself.

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle was on a warpath. His normally soft footsteps -the volume of which was carefully monitored to seem innocent in the company of teachers or other students and intimidating when with his knights- were frenetic. His magic was out of control and as a prefect, he still had duties to complete.

His dark black hair was messy, a byproduct of his nervous habit- that was entirely inaccurate; Voldemort didn't have any nervous habits, or even a reason to be nervous. That's why his long, slender fingers weren't tapping the side of his leg as he strode down the corridor.

_So tired. Need to talk to Sara still and patrol. And of course school work._

And angry. Hatred clawed at him. Hermione Dumbledore. She remembered what he had done to her. It had been written all over her face before she had composed her features. He had wiped her memory, and so the question remained: how? He had taken her wand. There was no way that she, the ignorant niece of the goddamn old coot, could have done anything to stop him.

He was the all powerful Lord Voldemort and no one could defeat him. _His_ magic reigned supreme. _He_ was going to rule the world, not that wretched chit.

But on some level she was intriguing. The last girl to enter Ravenclaw had been that ridiculous Myrtle Gallows, a disgusting _Mudblood_. And before her had been the Lucas sisters five years ago. That had stirred quite the uproar; four females, quadruplets, had been sorted in a house predominantly ruled by males. Not that any of them actually belonged there though.

Sara had been following his instructions, or else she would have been in his house. That wouldn't have done, as he'd needed a spy.

Marissa obviously belonged in with the Gryffindor idiots. She was a truly mischievous girl, having pranked him often as children. She deserved to die. He would take care of that later. No, he mused, he would force Sara to take care of her sister.

Liz didn't even deserve to be in this prestigious school. She was daft, but an opportunist. He had to give her that. When Sara had been out of the picture in third and fourth year, she had thrown herself shamelessly at him.

Needless to say, it was rare for a woman to possess the knowledge to succeed in that particular house, which meant that Heather Dumbledore had to be intelligent. Given her heritage though, it wasn't much of surprise.

Though she seemed altogether suspicious. Just randomly showing up one day. There was no such thing as coincidence and the fact that she hated him before she'd even got to know him did nothing to quell his doubts on her.

He was, after all, the perfect prefect Tom Riddle. Liked and respected by all of his classmates -even the Gryffindors- and professor. He was what every man desired to be and what every woman wanted. He was kind, brilliant, but seemingly unaware of it, handsome, hard-working, helpful... not to mention charming.

That was perhaps the best part of the charade. He was able to allow his natural charm out despite his near one-eighty personality.

The one flaw in his facade was that he was a lady's man; after meticulous deliberation, Sara had pointed out that no one was perfect and that he must have at least one flaw. He'd initially been furious at her insinuation. He'd nearly burned down the tree that they had been sitting under with his sudden emotion, all of the painstaking time he'd put into developing some semblance of a leash on the power he bore gone in that instant.

He'd acquiesced though, and here he was, playing the gentleman to every lady and pretending that he cared. Honestly, it made it easier for him to get what he wanted; use them and lose them. That was his motto. Of course, the benefits were immense and well worth it.

Yes, Heather Dumbledore. Normally he would propose further investigation on the matter from his knights -well, perhaps 'propose' wasn't the correct word. More like 'order', he supposed. This, however, was a matter that new required time and patience. Yes, observance would be key with the little Ravenclaw.

Observance that he would have Sarabella conduct.

Out of the shadows stepped the last person he wanted to see, at any given time. Abraxas Malfoy, though blessed with a copious fortune, was just one of his obedient lapdogs. He was a young one, having just started his schooling last year, and had been easily corrupted. He was sycophantic at heart, that Malfoy, one of the many reasons Tom found his servant intolerable.

His sycophantic attitude, of course, meant that he followed Riddle's every whim to a T. That was what made him no fun. He never disobeyed, never acted out, never argued with him. And so, there was no reason for Riddle to torture him- well, other than the excuses that he made.

Not to mention, the prat followed him around like a lost puppy.

Abraxas bowed deeply, the fronts of his robes skimming the floor, practically kowtowing in his haste. "My Lord-" he began,

But Riddle smacked him upside the head, effectively switching on the second year's mute button. "Not here, you insolent filth."

At that, Abraxas had the gall to appear insulted. "My blood is pure," he sneered, "I am not a Mudblood."

"Well then," Riddle countered, "don't act like one." Tom shoved the younger boy into an abandoned classroom and warded it, making sure that they quite literally had no connection to the outside word for the time being. "Now what was so important that you felt the need to act so carelessly?"

"Sara, My Lord, she ordered me around, said that I needed to do what she said, or else."

"Or else what?" Riddle's dark amusement surfaced, as a feral grin worked its way across his smooth lips.

"Or she would C_rucio_ me," Malfoy whimpered pathetically, his white blonde hair quivering even in its gel smeared state at the action.

Voldemort chuckled, "That sounds like her. What did she make you do?"

"She's not in charge of me though, My Lord," Abraxas complained.

"She most certainly is. You will address her as 'My Lady' from now on, Malfoy, or you will find yourself facing your darkest fears." Tom warned, "especially considering hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Now tell me: what did she have you do?"

"Try on a dress for her." Malfoy mumbled, "Liz had outgrown it and Sara made me-"

Tom rolled his eyes, fighting laughter, "Right. Well, I was looking for her, so where is she?"

"Patrolling the hallways," Abraxas provided.

"Very well. Off to bed then, Malfoy."

He wandered around for another five minutes until he found the Ravenclaw. She was staring out a window, arms crossed as she guardedly leaned against the frame.

At the sight of her, Tom's blood seemed to rush through his veins faster, almost as though it was trying to force it's way out of his body and into hers.

_A side effect of that damn bond._

She belonged to him completely, but he was just as much hers. The purpose had been the thrill that came along with having complete power over someone, as well as the ability to draw off her strong magic. Not to mention the blood bond had left the two of them feeling entirely unfulfilled. The soul bond had abated that, at the cost of a great deal of his pride and her sanity, but left their bodies to react to each other in ways they wished they wouldn't.

The bond was more than likely the reason behind his slight affection towards her- that is, if one called the occasional touch to satisfy the bond and his not cursing her affection.

Despite how quiet he had been, he knew that she sensed him, for she spoke softly. "Heather has considered my offer of companionship. I am positive that I have given her a reason to accept."

"What did you say?" Riddle edged closer to the brunette, leaning next to her, their arms brushing every now and then so that their bodies didn't spontaneously combust.

Such was the danger of the Dark Magic.

"I told her I was friends with you," Voldemort scowled at the word, "oh, don't make that face, Tommy," his ugly expression only deepened, his angelic features twisted into something more fitting of his personality. That was their routine. He called her sweetheart, something he and she both hated and in retaliation, she called him something even more muggle than his real name. Just another reason he despised the witch. "Her interest was invested in the conversation I was having with the Fangirl Army, most specifically on _you_." She deadpanned.

"And you exploited that curiosity." Riddle inferred knowingly.

"There is a reason I am your right hand. I am a Ravenclaw." She stated, bossily.

Voldemort backhanded her, her head snapping to the side and into the brick behind her head. Sara spat blood and glared at him defiantly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of displaying her fear and pain.

"Do not talk back to me, Miss Lucas. You will find the consequences... most severe." He composed himself, regarding her blankly as though it had never happened, "As for your point, you are more than a Ravenclaw. Ravenclaws, whilst intelligent, don't put the knowledge to use for anything."

In a way, it was a compliment. Not only was he calling her smart, but he was saying that she used that intelligence for something. His cause.

"Right," she acknowledged, "is there anything else you require of me, My Lord?" She was back to staring out the window, her attention only half on him.

Though annoyed at her blatant disrespect of his authority, he managed to remind himself that he was going to trust her as far as he could throw her. This was something he could overlook. "Miss Dumbledore will be returning to your common room shortly. I just spoke to her and she seemed to know more about me than she should. She blamed it on you, so corner her there. Also, there is a meeting at quarter past two. Be there and dress appropriately for your new position."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Then I will see you later, My Lady."

She was halfway down the corridor when she heard his voice, amused, "She thought you should be in Slytherin. Your image is failing you, sweetheart, so keep it better in place."

* * *

**Ravenclaw Tower, 1942, 19:50:**

_"With potent, flowery words speak I, Of something common, vulgar, dry; I weave webs of pedantic prose, In effort to befuddle those, Who think I wile time away, In lofty things, above all day The common kind that linger where Monadic beings live and fare; Practical I may not be, But life, it seems, is full of me!"_ The eagle head told her.

Hermione thought for a second before answering: "A riddle. You should stop giving me the Sphinx's riddles, I already know all of the answers." She replied smartly.

_"What do you put in the toaster."_ The bloody thing was probably trying to trick her by talking about muggle objects. What it didn't know was that she had grown up thinking she was a muggle.

"Bread."

_"Carol's mum has three daughters, the youngest is called February, the middle is called April. What is the name of the eldest child?"_

"Carol."

_"In a cold, pitch black room, you only have a match, an oil lamp and a wood burning stove. Which should you light first?"_

"The match."

The eagle head made to ask her another riddle but stopped when Sara, Hannah, Liz and Marissa arrived at the door, instead prompting the Lucas leading the pack.

_"Two men are in a desert. They both have packs on. One of them is dead. The bloke who is alive has his pack open, the bloke who is dead has his pack closed. What is in the pack?"_

"A parachute that wouldn't open." Sara didn't miss a beat as she linked arms with Hermione and pulled her through the entrance. The door closed behind them, leaving Sara's sisters alone. "So, I heard from Tom that you are using me as a scapegoat?"

Heather's eyes widened comically. "He knows!?"

Sara laughed, "No, he has no idea. I spoon fed him a tale in which I played hero and saved him from the wrath of the Fangirl Army yet again. I did hear, however, that you said I was more suited for Slytherin?"

"It's more fitting," Hermione shrugged, "what's taking your siblings so long?"

"They decided to give us some time alone. Kind of them, hm?" Sara smirked.

Hermione's gaze was drawn to the prefect's badge on the other girl's chest, "Yes, quite."

"Regardless, I was curious as to whether or not you had accepted my previous offer."

Hermione shrugged again. They were close to Riddle, or at least knew him, so there was some backlash from that, especially if Riddle made them spy on her. On the other hand, like she had said earlier, doors open both ways. This could be her chance to get closer to Riddle, as much as she hated the thought, and could be her way to destroy his Horcruxes. "Yes, I have. I accept."

"Smashing." At that moment Sara narrowed her green eyes at Hermione. Hermione felt as though they could see right through her, just like Dumbledore. "Now is there something you'd like to ask me?"

Hermione hesitated only a moment. "I was wondering how you got to know Tom Riddle so well?" She had meant it as a statement, but it came out more like a question.

Sara cocked her head to the side, "Funny," she mused, "I was wondering the same thing about you."

At that moment, her sisters came into the room and the four of them marched upstairs, leaving Hermione to panic next to the fireplace. What did these girls know about her? It seemed like they knew _something_.

Unfortunately, the only way Hermione could find out these answers was to ask the Lucases or use Legilimency. There was no way she would invade someone's personal space for something she could so easily find out herself, and she had a feeling that the four of them knew Occlumency anyways. Or at least that Sara one, the self-proclaimed friend of Tom Riddle, the man with no friends.

Concerned as she was over the fact that this girl was a prefect, she failed to hear -or rather not hear- how Sara never asked her where she was from or what had happened to her parents.

But there was one thing she knew for certain: she was in for it.

* * *

Before going to bed, Hermione had drawn her curtains closed and placed Silencing, and protective charms all around the haven. The charms were the same as the ones she had cast around the tent she, Harry and Ron had travelled in last year, with the addition of one she had created. The spell let out a loud shrieking noise whenever someone approached too close to her area so that she was forewarned of their presence.

She swallowed a phial Dreamless Sleep and allowed herself to be drawn into bliss.

* * *

Sara didn't really know what Riddle had meant when he'd told her to "dress appropriately" for her new position. Normally, she wore slacks like the men when she went to a meeting for the Knights, but Riddle was more than likely expecting her to embody a Dark Lady.

Dumbledore had warned the oldest Lucas that Tom Riddle was dangerous. She remembered him telling her so when she was an infant. Though she didn't possess a perfect memory, she remembered that vividly.

_She could recall him laying her down at a doorstep, leaning over to place a slip of parchment on her blanket and whispering for her to never trust Tom Marvolo Riddle._

It was, in fact, one of the few things she _could_ recall so lucidly from her younger days. Everything cleared to the point of distinction when she had been seven, but the only memory before then was of Dumbledore.

In the memory, she'd never seen his face, but she had recognised his voice. His posture had been different too, much more hunched as though he were ailing or in a deal of great pain.

_Her oldest memory._

So it was no surprise when she had directly disobeyed her current teacher. Riddle had been blackmailing her though, and had left her no choice. The result? She couldn't rid herself of him. Ever. If one believed in reincarnation, their souls would no doubt find each other again.

There was nothing sexual between her and the Heir of Cunning, despite what others may have thought, but due to the bond, there could very well be if they both didn't go to hell.

When she had told Dumbledore earlier this year, he'd been appalled, but the old man wasn't about to throw away an opportunity. Hence her spying on Riddle. The problem with that? She found herself being influenced by him more and more as each day passed. Considering she could feel what he felt -which wasn't much, mind- she knew the pleasure he received whenever someone knelt before him. Whenever he watched someone in pain. To an extent, the tendencies -his pleasure- had rubbed off on her.

No longer did his torturing of innocents bother her much. Yes, to an extent she could find, gulp, _satisfaction_ in their suffering, but whether it be his or hers, she couldn't say. She no longer knew.

Sighing, she transfigured her nightgown to an elegant dress. She almost made it Slytherin green, but decided that would be stretching her loyalty to her house and the Light side.

She checked on her sisters, kissing Hannah on the forehead, smoothing Marissa's hair back and even patting Liz on the cheek.

_She would do anything for her siblings. She owed them more than they knew._

She made her way inconspicuously to the Forbidden Forest, careful to avoid the Head Boy, a Hufflepuff named Richard Brown. When she arrived, the other Knights were standing around chatting. Sara made to join them, but Tom caught her arm and pulled her to him, out of the sight of the gathering.

Shivering when her sapphire blue cloak was disrupted, Sara broke the Slytherin's grip easily, her hand-to-hand skills factoring in on the simple escape. "What are you doing, Tom?" She hissed, staring into his green eyes.

"Escorting you the rest of the way there," he shrugged. The small amount of light shining through the trees did nothing to illuminate his attractive features. No, it corrupted them further. The shadows drew attention to the dark circles under his eyes, just how pale and thin he was. He looked almost... sick. His cheeks were stretched tight, almost gaunt and his cheekbones protruded sharply, almost viciously.

"You don't look well, My Lord," she commented offhandedly.

"And whose fault might that be? I am still recovering from the extended stunt you pulled. Two years, Sara. You took something of mine, but left nothing for me. The bond forces us to be close to each other or we will become sick, you know that, and yet you left me nothing to prevent me from suffering through that."

He must have been really ill to talk to her about what was practically his feelings. "Tom, are you alright?" This time she was more uncertain, completely unaware of whether or not she should feel remorse for what she'd done.

She'd needed the experience though. It would help her to resist her counterpart as well as to protect her sisters.

"I will be. But I need you close tonight." He placed her hand on the crook of his elbow and sighed, "you know I hate you, right?"

"Not hate." Sara disagreed immediately, "you just don't know what to feel. The bond won't allow you to hate me, so you are confused. Filled with self-loathing."

He smirked condescendingly, "You would know that."

"I can read your expressions. I've known you long enough to know what you are thinking at a glance, Tommy. And I can read books. You do realise that I don't spend all of my time in the library researching the curse my siblings were _blessed_ with." She snarked.

Too exhausted to deal with her for once, Tom gave a tired sigh. "I do. Now let's go, My Lady."

That night, Sara slept in Tom's room, close enough that he could begin to properly recuperate from the sickness she had purposely inflicted upon him.

It no longer surprised her to realise that in all of the time that she had known what pain he had felt, she hadn't regretted it.

After that night, Sara never slept in her own dorm again.

* * *

**Ravenclaw Girl's Dorm, Oct. 2, 1942, 6:00:**

"Heather, are you awake?" Hermione woke up disoriented from her wailing alarm. She was in danger, Voldemort was going to attack her!

The offender -who had short, straight brown hair- yanked open the curtain only to find Hermione's wand aimed at the her throat.

"Woah," The girl raised her hands up in a display of submission and teased: "I know that you and I met very briefly yesterday, but I thought that I had made more of an impression," she grinned.

"I sorry," Hermione apologised, "it's a reflex."

"S'all good. Anyway, it's Friday. Breakfast starts at seven and classes at eight. I figured you may want time to truly wake up? Get dressed, have breakfast? And if you're anything like Sara, go to the library before the crack of dawn."

Hermione, who prided herself in waking up early and her love of the library, was at a loss. She hadn't slept much recently, due to the nature of her nightmares, and so had not woken up as early as she would have normally. That someone else shared her abnormal love of dawn and books was a little strange.

"Why did she go so early?" Hermione asked as she pulled the covers off and rubbed her eyes.

Marissa's lips pursed. "She had a date with the Queen of England." There was a moment of silence, then: "for a Ravenclaw, Sara really likes to procrastinate."

"I see." Was all Hermione said.

"Yes, well, how did you sleep?"

For the first time in what felt like decades, Hermione had slept well. She wondered what had caused the peaceful slumber, but wrote it off as the chocolate from the night before. She smiled happily at the thought of that amount of rest every night. "Better than I thought I would." She replied honestly.

Marissa nodded. "Listen, Sara thought that you didn't really have a chance to get your Ravenclaw robes yesterday. Since you and Liz look to be the same size, Hannah stole some of her clothes for you." Her face contorted to one of slight disgust. "All of the girls who are less conservative-" At this she gestured towards her own skirt which was at least three inches above her knee- "alter the uniform a little, but Liz takes it to a different level. I'm supposed to help you adjust the clothes into a more suitable style."

Marissa rubbed a hand on the back of her neck, incredibly awkward with the situation. It was obvious that she was a tomboy and didn't really care what she wore. Nevertheless, Marissa held up an incredibly short skirt, a tiny blouse and a set of robes with the Ravenclaw crest sewn into them.

The other girl turned around to give Hermione privacy whilst she changed and Hermione put on the clothes.

The skirt looked like something bought from the five year old girls section that had been shrunk in the wash and cut in half, and then was finally ready to be worn. So basically a pair of underwear. The blouse wasn't much better, a tight piece of white cloth that clung to her breasts tightly, almost like a corset. The vest that went over that was baggy.

Hermione made a confused face at that.

"She never wore the vest," Marissa explained. "Why can't Hannah be here? She actually _likes_ this sort of thing!" Marissa shuddered. "I hate clothes. If I had my way, we'd all run around in our birthday suits."

Hermione laughed at that.

"Finally, someone who gets my sense of humour besides the Gryffindors and my sisters! Well, other than Liz, but she's a lazy sod, and a slag at that..."

Hermione grinned. And she had thought that everyone in the forties was reserved! Marissa seemed the opposite, very blunt and always speaking her mind. She almost reminded her of Ginny...

"Right, well, there you go, all fixed." Hermione hadn't even noticed that Marissa was mending her clothes until she felt the pressure in her chest decrease.

"_Merci_! I can breathe!," said Heather, "but what about the tie?"

Marissa smacked her forehead. "Hannah! She wanted to make me go digging through Liz's lacy things! That's what this was!"

"Or," Hermione interjected logically, "she forgot to get one."

Marissa muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like: "Damn, everyone always takes her side" and rifled through a floral trunk at the foot of an equally floral bedspread, pulling out strings that may have been underwear, or else dental floss, and a diary. Finally she found a tie and returned everything to where it had been before.

Hermione tied her tie and tucked it under her vest, pulled on the Ravenclaw robes, realised that they didn't need any alterations either and picked up her satchel, which was now jam-packed with books that hadn't been there last night.

"Do you know how-?" Hermione started to ask Marissa, but the dark haired girl cut her off.

"Ask one of my sisters, I'm sure you know which one."

Hermione frowned at that and the two made their way out of the common room, down the Grand Staircase (Marissa loudly cursing the moving stairs to anyone who would listen, or in some cases those who didn't even care or told her to be quiet) and to the Great Hall.

The two sat down at the Ravenclaw table, Hermione sitting so that she would be able to see the Slytherins. She turned out to be next to Hannah with Marissa in front of them.

If Hermione had expected to be bombarded by questions by her peers, she would have been wrong. None of the multitude of Ravenclaw boys even spoke to her and when she counted, she found that there were only six Ravenclaw girls that she knew of. The Lucases, herself and of course Moaning Myrtle, who -if memory served- would be killed this May. She swallowed. She had to stop Riddle.

"Where are Sara and Liz?" She wondered aloud, picking up a plate of chocolate chip pancakes and devouring them at a speed that would have made Ron proud. Ron... Hermione pushed down her tears and focussed on Hannah's response.

"Sara hardly ever comes to meals. She's always in the library." Hannah frowned at that, her gray eyes mimicking her mouth. "Liz is 'too gorgeous' for us, so most of the time it's Marissa and I. Sometimes Weasley and Prewett come over, and others Riddle and Sara."

"They always come together?" Hermione inquired, confused. Dumbledore had said that Voldemort'd had no friends when he went to school, that they were all his minions.

"Yeah. Neither of them really come to the meals, but when they do, they come together and sit next to each other." Hannah informed her innocently. Hannah seemed pretty naive...

Marissa glared at her sister.

"Are they in a relationship?" Hermione found herself quipping.

"Well," said Hannah, "it's complicated really-"

She shut her mouth when her sister bent over the table and hissed something in her ear that Hermione couldn't hear. Not that she had been eavesdropping...

"They have a sort of agreement." Liz said instead. "You'd have to ask Sara, because there is no way in all of the seven bloody levels of hell that Riddle will tell you."

"Yeah, he doesn't exactly seem like an open person," Hermione threw bait to the Lucases and waited to see if they would take it.

"That's the understatement of the century!" Marissa exclaimed loudly, causing everyone who was a breakfast at seven fifteen to stare at her. "What I mean is this: Riddle is polite, a teacher's pet, he'll help you if you need help, he's good with the ladies, all of his Slytherins flock him. But that's just it! Riddle is an empty shell, a robot in human skin! He has no personality, no hobbies, other than tort- sculpting!" She corrected herself hastily.

"Oh, sculpting sounds like an interesting hobby," Hermione threw another bone, really digging to see what the two knew.

"Listen," Marissa lowered her voice on a monumental level, causing Hermione and Hannah to shift closer to her so that they could hear what she was saying. "Riddle is bad, bad news. The five of us grew up together, so there's not much that we don't know about each other, but the two of us were wise not to get too close to him. Liz-" the familiar pained expression played across her features again.

"Liz is absolutely infatuated with him." A new voice drew into the conversation, belonging to Sara. "And I'm bent on trying to save him from himself. Is that what you were going to say, Marissa?" She asked casually, twirling her wand in her left hand in the same fashion. Hermione noticed that the stick was rather long, probably about fourteen inches.

"Yes, that was what I was going to say," Marissa's jaw tightened visibly and she lowered her eyes. This was a humongous difference from their interactions last night, and Hermione could only guess that this was a sore topic.

"Well, no need to go around spreading rumours. Dumbledore knows more than she'd like us to think and she may get some useful information from the lies you spread." Sara murmured, sending Hermione a conspiratorial wink.

"Right, well, let's speak of more pleasant topics," Hannah suggested, acting mediator. "Like your timetable! Here comes Chastity to give it to you now."

"Miss Dumbledore, your schedule."

Hermione had barely glanced at it when Marissa took it.

"Shite, unless you're like Tom or Sara you're fucking screwed. I do not want to be you."

"She got all twelve then?" Sara, who was reading some sort of book, the cover blurred out for privacy on her reading habits, didn't look up as she spoke.

Hannah gave a low whistle. "In Ravenclaw it's practically required that one take at least six classes, so Marissa and Liz took the minimum, I took eight and Sara took everything. In fact, you, Sara, and Tom are the only ones that are taking them all! You'll be like Ravenclaw royalty..." A distinctively dreamy smile crossed her features before Marissa reached to smack her.

Sara didn't look up, instead flicking her hand wordlessly, her wand somewhere else on her person.

Marissa's hand hit her own face instead and she complained loudly, much to the amusement of Weasley and Prewett on the other half of the Great Hall. Said Gryffindors came over minutes later and both kissed Sara on one of her cheeks.

"Have I said that I love you lately?" The one on the left joked. He and the other looked exactly like Fred and George... it was scary. And saddening. But mostly frightening.

"What do you want from me, Septimus?" Sara was still reading that book.

"Your hand in marriage!" The other one said with a smirk.

Sara raised an eyebrow.

"The wench- I mean, Marissa's hand in marriage?" The one that Sara had called Septimus joked.

Marissa made a horrified face. "NO BLOODY WAY! YOU'LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE WEASLE!" With that, she leapt up out of her seat and was followed by the Prewett. Marissa seemed prone to causing scenes.

So it seemed that even in 1942, the Weasley family had that unfortunate nickname.

From the other end of the table, Liz was rolling her eyes and impersonating her sister with Celeste Lovegood and some other cronies.

Septimus remained behind and whispered something in Sara's ear, making the girl raise her other eyebrow. She leaned closer to Septimus and whispered something back. Septimus's face turned beet red in embarrassment. He said something else and Sara laughed slightly before replying.

"Okay, are they in a relationship?" Hermione asked.

"Not quite." Hannah told her. " They've been friends since first year when she punched him in the face and Evan bit her. Marissa had to kick Evan after that and the four have been pretty good friends since. Sara and Septimus have a little attraction between them, and if you ask me, they're playing with fire. They try to see who can make the other feel the most uncomfortable."

"How does he feel about Riddle?"

"Hates him because he's a Slytherin, but hates him even more since Sara and Riddle have history."

"So they did court?" Hermione was really frustrated, but level headed enough to consider that in this time period, it was probably called 'courting'. She almost pulled a Marissa, jumping up and screaming.

But what she was really confused about was that she even cared if Tom Riddle was dating someone. Well, not really, it was more of a clinical interest, but still, she needed to know. For this whole operation, that is.

"_No_." Septimus said, catching wind of the conversation. "They never dated." He looked back to Sara almost possessively. "They didn't." He repeated even more softly, as though to reassure himself.

Sara put her hand on his arm for a moment and then reached across the table, catching Heather's arm. "C'mon then, off to Charms."

* * *

**A/N:** This song comes from Vivaldi's Four Seasons. The Fourth Concerto is often nicknamed Winter and it as well as Spring are my favourite.

Cheers!


	7. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 6

Only the Good are Weak

**Onesmartcookie78**

**Disclaimer:** After a long, vigorous, profound soul-searching session, I determined that I was the real J.K. Rowling and that someone had stolen my identity. Unfortunately, that realisation turned out to be a delusion. I nearly cried when I came back to reality.

**A/N:** Thanks to the 3,351 people who have read! Reviews are what make me update though ;) It's been quite a while since I last posted, but I took a temporary hiatus to go visit France for the holidays. Hopefully this makes up for it! It's rather bothersome to list all of those who reviewed, favourited and followed, so I'll just respond to the reviews this time. Also; I'm not sure how many of you lot noticed, but the rating went up. You have Liz to thank for that one.

**mh21**: I'm glad someone thought to ask that! Your questions are answered in this chapter :)

**maggalina**: You are my sister in fanfiction, seriously. Thanks so much for reviewing!

**Crosettely**: For one, I cannot thank you enough for mentioning **Only the Good are Weak** in your story, **If I Only Had a Heart**. That made me absolutely delighted. As for your mention on the dialogue, sometimes I feel as though my dialogue drives the story _too_ much.

**treegasms**: Thanks for mentioning the error, I went back and corrected it, else it would have annoyed me :)

**LK-HoGwArTs-hEaDgIrL**: Thanks :)

I hope you lot enjoy the new cover!

**Chapter 6: The Barber of Seville**

* * *

"'Gosh, that takes me back... or forward. That's the trouble with time travel, you can never remember.'"

—The Fourth Doctor, _Doctor Who_, _"The Androids of Tara"_

* * *

**Charms Room, 1942, 8:20:**

Hermione had met Augusta Longbottom, Neville's grandmother, in the future. She had been a stern lady, intent on making Neville the best he could possibly be. She was nothing like that now, or in the past, whichever 1942 was considered for her.

Augusta was -to quote Marissa- a "stuck-up bitch". She acted as high and mighty as Hermione had figured Riddle would.

Not to mention Augusta was awful in Charms.

Professor Mack was just as strict as the future Augusta and as such screamed at her whenever she got something wrong.

"It's Levi-O-sa! Not Levi-o-SA!" He shouted for what seemed like the thousandth time. Déjà vu. She was back in first year again, yelling at Ron for the same exact thing. A pang of sadness erupted in her heart, the feeling that she was missing something returning. She was missing her best mates.

If what she was planning worked though, they could very well be alive when she went back to the future. That, of course, raised many questions in itself. How would she go back? When would she be able to return? And the obvious _what if I kill everyone?_ The butterfly effect was highly likely- that is unless one believed time had circular structure. If so, then she had been doomed to come to the past to begin with, meaning that something she had done in the past had made what had happened in the future... well, _happen_.

That in itself made Hermione's brain scrambled. If that was the case, if time was circular, then what had she done here to affect the future?

Now though, she felt like she should isolate herself! Interaction was sure to cause the butterfly effect anyway, and if time was circular, then her actions might make the future the way it is! Or would it be was? Will be? Time travel is confusing.

But if time was circular, her inaction may have caused the events to play out as they had. _It's no wonder that there hasn't been a massive race to develop a Time-Turner that can go back this far; meddling with something so fluid is substantially more complicated than I had originally thought it would be._

Tuning back into class, Hermione saw Professor Mack forcing Augusta to do the Levitation Charm. Having failed to perform their new spell to Mack's satisfaction, the teacher had decided to test whether or not the Gryffindor had any knowledge of even the rudimentary fundamentals of Charms.

Augusta wasn't doing too well with the first year spell either.

"Miss Longbottom! You are going to get a 'T' on your Charms O.W.L.s!" Professor Mack was slamming his hands against Augusta's desk, having completely forgotten about the rest of the class long ago, his face red and eyes wild.

Augusta had shrunk far into her chair, her eyes level with the desk, flushed with embarrassment.

"Is Charms always like this?" Hermione asked Hannah, eyes still trained on the scene in front of her.

"Yeah," Septimus and Evan were snickering at their house's prefect as Professor Mack yelled, screamed, and threatened to fail her. "Augusta's a prick and deserves it! She gave us detention yesterday for throwing dungbombs at the firsties with Peeves."

"Mhm," Hannah input, off in dreamland.

Sara and Marissa had turned around to face them, Marissa's head on the desk in front of Hannah, sound asleep and Sara reading another book, a frustrated look on her face.

"Gryffindor is a good house, their morals intact and all that, but they're not the brightest," her eyes flicked to Septimus and Prewett for a second, "foolhardy most of the time in fact." She stated absently, reading.

"But Mack yelling at Longbottom is a definite benefit of Charms with the Gryffindors," Marissa agreed.

"You mean other than seeing our lovely, charming faces?" Evan smoothed back his unruly red hair and winked at Marissa's form. She made a disgusted sound and turned her head away.

"Shouldn't we be practising the spell now?" Hermione asked. She had already mastered it, but then she had already taken this course...

Sara curled her free hand and a large bouquet of assorted flowers materialised in her fist. She turned to face forward again, tapped Finnick, a fellow Ravenclaw, on the shoulder with the flowers and gave them to him without a word. Finnick opened his mouth to say something, but Sara was already facing Hannah again, never once having stopped reading. She switched pages again.

"Overachiever," Marissa muttered sleepily.

"How are you so good at wandless magic?" Hermione questioned.

Two of the sisters winced and Liz cringed slightly as though she'd heard the question from her seat next to Finnick. Sara tensed and put down the book, her emerald eyes hard.

"She doesn't want to talk about it," Liz snapped, spinning around.

"Well she didn't ask you." Evan sassed.

"Just drop it," Hannah cautioned, her eyes momentarily clearing from their glazed over appearance.

"'Nuf said," Marissa intoned.

"That's quite enough," Sara commanded. Instantly the other girls straightened. "It was a while ago."

"You only stopped the month before school," Liz reminded her, the first time she had shown concern, other than when Tom's romantic interest in her was in question. She put a hand on her sister's shoulder. "You don't need to prove anything, General."

_Right back to General. There is something just plain _wrong_ about such a formal greeting between siblings,_ Hermione thought. Though she'd had no siblings herself, she'd been around the Weasleys and that had been enough interaction to show her what brothers and sisters were supposed to act like to each other.

"It's not that big of a deal," Sara shifted, uncomfortable. Her eyes were flickering between Hermione and the door as though she was contemplating escaping. So far, this was the only thing that Hermione had seen make her flustered.

"You fought! That's a huge deal!" Liz disagreed.

"We're only trying to help you- if Tom finds out-" Whatever she was about to say was cleanly cut off by the bossy Sara.

"I will make the decision, as it is mine to make." Sara closed the conversation. She met Hermione's eyes. "I fought in the war against Grindelwald in third and fourth year. My wand got snapped when I got captured over the summer, so I got really good in wandless magic and hand to hand."

"Yeah," Marissa drew out the word sarcastically, "she is ridiculous with knives."

"Where did you fight again?" Septimus asked, his tone of the 'oh-this-is-just-bloody-wicked' variety.

"France, Germany and a bit on the Italian front," Sara stated stiltedly.

"Wait, what? Uncle Albus let you participate in the war!?" Hermione was incredulous; in her time period, Dumbledore would never have let a student into a war!

"It wasn't his choice," Septimus frowned, "after all, Dippet is headmaster, not Dumbledore, though your uncle would make a much better headmaster than Dippet." He added bitterly.

"He's just upset because last year Riddle accused him of lighting his robes on fire and it came down to him versus Riddle, Dippet ruling. Needless to say Weasley lost," Marissa stifled her giggle in her robes.

"I swear I didn't do it!" Septimus exclaimed, his ears as red as his face.

"Yeah, about that..." Prewett looked nervous, "I figured I would broach the subject again this year because you seemed rather sore last; who do you reckon did it?"

"Riddle." Septimus said with conviction, "he did it and blamed me so that points would be taken from Gryffindor and Slytherin could win the House cup."

"He thinks the world's out to get him." Marissa whispered loudly.

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Anyway," Prewett cut in, blanching, "I take it you're still angry..."

"Bloody hell! Of course I'm angry!" He shrieked, causing Professor Mack to glance up dazedly from his own fit.

Evan at least had the grace to look sheepishly apologetic, "that was me." He mumbled.

"What?" Weasley stopped ranting to Sara who was watching, amused.

"I said," Evan swallowed, "that I was the one who set Riddle's robes on fire."

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL, PREWETT! I SERVED DETENTIONS FOR THE REST OF THE FUCKING YEAR FOR THAT! AND IT HAPPENED AT THE PLATFORM! I HAD TO CLEAN TOILETS! WASH CHASTITY'S CAT! I HAD TO GROOM DUMBLEDORE'S BEARD!"

"KEEP THE VOLUME DOWN, WEASLEY!" Professor Mack screeched.

"BLOODY HELL!" Weasley screeched right back.

"DETENTION FOR A WEEK, WEASLEY!"

"GOT IT PROFESSOR!" Translation: COME AT ME BRO.

"ANOTHER WEEK FOR SARCASM, WEASLEY! AND TWENTY POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!"

"SEPTIMUS!" Augusta accused.

"CAN IT, LONGBOTTOM, YOU'LL SERVE DETENTION RIGHT AlONG WITH HIM AND FIFTY POINTS FOR YOUR INEPTITUDE IN CHARMS!"

On and on Charms goes, when it ends, no one knows!

* * *

**Transfiguration, 1942, 9:00:**

"Where did Sara go?" Hermione asked as she, Hannah and Marissa made their way to Transfiguration, Liz surprisingly following them.

"Dunno, but don't let Riddle hear about her and the war. Those two years were rather hard for him because of her extended leave..." Marissa warned, "he became even more harsh than usual."

"He'll bloody murder whoever says that to his face though, and blatantly deny it." Liz muttered, more forthcoming on the topic than her sisters. "I'm not sure what they've told you, but my siblings and I are orphans and so is Tom Riddle. We all grew up together.

"Sara is the oldest, well other than Riddle, and takes it upon herself to protect the rest of us. Made sure Riddle left us alone, that sort of thing. In the orphanage, he is nowhere near as charming as you see now. He stole things from the other children and it's almost like whilst we're there, he shows his true colours.

"He and Sara though... we're not sure what happened. One day we went on a day trip... the two disappeared and didn't come back until after dark, both as white as sheets and covered in blood. They've been closer than ever since. They refuse to tell us what happened, but only near death bonds two people as different as they with how they act now."

"Did you ever consider that they are just similar and that is what drew them together?" Hermione input.

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked, "they're nothing alike. Like Liz said, they must have had a near death experience. Or he's blackmailing her."

_Or both,_ Hermione thought. "Well, they both seem to value logic, they're both incredibly secretive and they both seem to enjoy to give orders."

The three sisters pondered that for a moment. "No," Liz said, "Sara's not as cold as him. She shuts us out sometimes, but he is like that always, unless she's the only one there."

Marissa acquiesced. "It's disgusting how he acts when he thinks they're alone. It's so... intimate. Like they're lovers or something, but she swears they've never even snogged."

Hermione highly doubted he acted like that when they were alone. Riddle had more than likely known that he and Sara were being watched and had decided to give a show. That sounded like something a snake would do.

"You don't have to snog someone in order to shag them," Liz pointed out.

"Anyway, he's not someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley," Marissa surmised. "Arrogant bastard in school, too, but only in private to us, or his special group."

"Group?" She was, of course, talking about the Knights of Walpurgis, but Hermione didn't know much about the cult from Riddle's school days. Dumbledore had, according to Fawkes, left her the information somewhere, but she would have to find it first. Therefore, the more data she could collect now, the better.

"Yeah, they have this group of Slytherins called-"

"Mind if I borrow Dumbledore?" Sara, who Hermione could have sworn had been ahead of them, had caught up and grabbed her arm without permission.

Her one cheek was red with a handprint on it and her robes looked rumpled. As Hermione watched though, Tom Riddle stalked past, limping slightly and significantly worse for the wear.

His wavy, but tidy, black hair was a promising shade of bright pink, his skin a sickening pale pasty green colour and his dark eyes absolutely blazing with pent up fury. His gaze focussed solely on Sara as he clearly made his way to the Hospital Wing.

_Evil bastard deserved it_, Hermione thought, annoyed that Sara hadn't explained what had happened yet.

She chuckled anyway and behind her she heard Marissa bark out a laugh: "Bloody hell!"

Sara smirked, very Slytherin-esque, and opened the door to Transfiguration, three minutes early. "Listen," she put on a serious face, "I may impart some of our past on you later and answer any sorts of questions you have, but that decision will be made by _me _and only me. It will also not occur in bloody public when Tom's right there."

Anger surged through Hermione's veins. "They're your sisters, not children! Let them make their own decisions!" After all, who was she to discourage them from spouting useful information?

"The information may be useful to your cause, but I have seen more than they have, then _you_ have, of Riddle _and_ the war. You are going to have to accept that I know more than all of you on this matter. I make the decision because Hannah doesn't know how much to disclose, Marissa is liable to exaggerate and if Liz tells you she might as well be telling everyone."

"You have a point," Hermione admitted, thinking of all of the girl's personalities. Sara was the only logical choice. She also seemed to know the most about Voldemort and since she was seemingly close to him, she could prove a useful source of information. That didn't abate her anger though- she'd been so close to getting some of the answers she'd needed most, only to be interrupted by a madwoman who was friends with a psychopath.

"Now we'll talk later in the common room, because here he comes."

Indeed Riddle entered the classroom not a moment later, followed closely by Professor Dumbledore, both five minutes late.

"Students, I needn't remind fifth years such as yourselves that hexing and jinxing in the hallways is a punishable offense, correct?" His eyes found Sara though and he gave her a barely noticeable smile.

Hermione watched from her seat behind Sara as Riddle took the empty seat next to her. She saw him put his bag on the floor, take out a piece of parchment and a quill and straighten, resting his right arm on the back of Sara's chair.

He leaned in and said something to her quietly. She smirked and whispered something back, making him raise his eyebrows.

"Who can tell me the definition of a Switching Spell?" Dumbledore asked.

Sara and Hermione raised their hands at the same.

"Miss Lucas, you answer all of the time, let's see how Miss Dumbledore will do." Dumbledore determined.

Riddle murmured something to Sara, his lips brushing her ear and put his hand on her knee this time.

_Yeah, he was giving Marissa a show. If this is how he's acting in public, imagine what he did to toy with her mind when they were 'alone' and Marissa saw them. He wants to discredit her standings with her sisters._ Hermione realised as the pieces came together, gears turning, cogs whirring. _If he makes it look like she's betraying her siblings, he'll have more of a use for her because no one will care where she is. Her sisters will hate her. He could have her for his nefarious purposes alone._

"A Switching Spell, as stated in _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, is a spell used to switch the places of two objects." This was so easy, first it was on her O.W.L.s, then her admittance test and now here!

"Excellent. Take five points for Ravenclaw, Miss Dumbledore. Now these spells are obviously a review from your first year, but we are reviewing as I am certain they will show up on your O.W.L.s. Miss Lucas, would you mind coming to the front of the room and making this cat switch places with this stool?"

"Certainly, sir," she brushed Riddle's hand off, shooting him a glare, and went to the front, performing it they same way she seemed to do all of her other spells.

"Wandless and nonverbal? Perfect, Miss Lucas, take fifteen points for Ravenclaw."

Sara sat back down and stuck her tongue out at Riddle.

"Alright, moving on," class continued in the same way with Hermione, and Sara raising their hands and everyone else taking notes or goofing off. Marissa seemed to have fallen asleep and next to Hermione, Hannah was as spaced out as an astronaut as she stared out the window.

Riddle's posture was hunched as though the class bored him, his left hand scribbling notes absently. Perhaps he was even drawing, what with the inconsistency of his movements. Hermione had forgotten that Voldemort hated Dumbledore, enough that he wasn't even bothering to keep up the perfect prefect facade in his class. Dumbledore, after all, had been awfully suspicious of the Slytherin.

Halfway through class, Riddle and Sara began passing a piece of paper back and forth and from the growing frustration writ on both of their features, it was an argument.

Hermione clearly saw Sara's lips form the words 'knights' and 'Walpurgis', whereas Voldie's may have whispered 'tonight'. So they were having a meeting tonight? Hermione would have to keep an eye on the Map this evening.

Finally, class ended with Dumbledore giving them an essay for homework and calling Riddle, Sara and Hermione over to his desk.

"As you three know, it is impossible to take twelve classes in one week; everything would be scheduled on top of each other! Since the three of you are _responsible _students and have experience in using a Time-Turner, the three of you will share one. I expect that you will be able to keep it in working condition, Miss Lucas?"

Right, because Dumbledore wouldn't want Tom to have his hands on such a powerful device. That made sense, give it to the responsible Ravenclaw so that no one could accuse him of favouritism either.

"Why didn't we get this ahead of time?" Riddle accused as politely as he could.

"There was a problem with ordering it from the Ministry," Dumbledore elaborated. "So, Miss Lucas?"

"Of course, professor," she smiled diligently, "since Dippet scheduled the classes we shared to overlap, we can all use the Time-Turner at the same time. Thank you professor," she accepted the golden object gratefully, "see you tomorrow, sir."

The teacher gave her an affectionate smile, Tom a polite -but awkward- pat on the shoulder, and Hermione a tight hug. "I'll see you children tomorrow."

The three exited the classroom together, Sara and Hermione linking arms to go to Herbology and Tom probably to go commit murder, or another heinous crime. Perhaps kicking puppies was his fancy at this age. Hermione didn't really care. She knew all of the dates of when he had created all of his Horcruxes, or at least the timespan in between each creation. She knew when he had opened the Chamber of Secrets during this school year -in the spring- that he had killed Myrtle and blamed Hagrid. That he didn't want to go back to his orphanage and so had needed to close the Chamber. That after he had closed it, he had created his first Horcrux, the diary.

Hermione knew everything that Dumbledore had shown Harry in the pensieve.

And that was why, this time, Tom Riddle would lose.

* * *

The Knights of Walpurgis -later to be known as the Death Eaters- were not a cult. They didn't have a hymn that they began each meeting singing, Black didn't walk into the Forbidden Forest swinging incense on a chain and the Knights didn't kowtow to Riddle... much.

When they did though, it was a good, proper bang-of-the-head-on-the-floor, not a half-assed one. Followed by a lovely chorus of "we are not worthy", it was the single most wonderful sound Tom Marvolo Riddle had ever heard.

Unfortunately though, Sara had won their little dispute earlier when she had sent him to the Hospital Wing. Or rather, he had let her win. All part of the plan, really.

He was, after all, intelligent. It was only so obvious that the witch -_his_ witch- was spying on him for the old coot. He could see that she was losing faith in the reconnaissance though. By allowing her power in a way that suggested he had not willingly given it to her, he was implying that he trusted her, which would garner her own trust in him.

Due to this though, the meeting did not begin how it would have normally.

It began as follows.

* * *

Sara steeled herself as she made the walk down to the Forbidden Forest. Having won the duel with Tom after waking up in his room that morning, and then the one right after Charms (which he had cheated in by surprise attacking her) she had earned the privilege of being in control of the Knights of Walpurgis for the evening. She wondered if he had known how close she had been to pulling out her knives and killing him.

Once her body had recognised that it was him though, the feat had become impossible. No matter how much she wanted to, the bond disallowed it. And lately, that desire had decreased at an exponentially alarming rate.

Translation: she was completely, utterly screwed when it came to Tom.

Tonight, she had decided to use the Knights more subtly than Tom had ever. Of course, he was careful in his own right, but she planned to be even more paranoid with her orders than he. What if this could be traced back to her? No, she couldn't have Dumbledore knowing about this.

It was an elaborate scheme, of course, one that would span across a rather large period of time and would require the utmost delicacy and secrecy. And she knew exactly how to start it.

"Alphard, step forward to receive your orders," Sara beckoned to him, warding the vicinity thoroughly so that no one, even Tom, could hear what she was about to say. Despite her precaution, she still found herself whispering the instructions. She found that fear could be a powerful motivator, and that words had weight, especially when delivered at the right volume and in the correct tone.

The whispering also forced Black to lean in to hear her, making it easier for her to touch him.

The Ravenclaw brushed her finger across the skin of the boy's wrist inconspicuously, and sent a jolt of her magic through him. There. Now he wouldn't remember his instructions until the night he needed to carry them out.

Alphard nodded at her, and a second later, his face went blank.

"I'm sorry, My Lady, what were we talking about again?" Alphard questioned, a look of confusion crossing over his handsome features.

"I was just saying that you should go get Avery for me," Sara supplied, shooting him a demure smile.

Alphard smiled back, and went to find Mortimer.

The process ran its continuation until it was Tom coming to her.

"Funny," he smirked, "that Beauregard, Mortimer, Alphard and all of the others don't remember what you spoke to them about," he paused as though she would answer him, and sighed when she didn't. "I suppose that you have directions for me as well?"

"No," Sara shook her head, "not you."

"Shame. It almost seems like you don't trust me, love," he chuckled darkly, "but that's not true, now is it?"

"Actually it is. And what's with the new endearment?"

"Variety is the spice of life."

"You don't honestly believe that," Sara snickered, "and if you get to call me that, then I'll call you something different."

Tom mentally facepalmed. He wanted to make it seem like he was growing to like her more. He didn't want another horrible nickname.

"Tommy-boy," Sara exclaimed abruptly, "that's what I'll call you."

"We went through this already." Tom rolled his eyes, "you called me that all of the time when we were younger. It's not much of a new nickname, love."

"Yes it is," she defended as Tom dropped her arm to open the doors to the entrance. He offered her his arm again and she latched on. "It's almost like... the name has been exhumed."

This was the thoughtful side of his Ravenclaw, the innovative side that he himself lacked. She was, for lack of a better word, his muse on all things creative. She gave him inspiration, or else ideas to utilise for his own plots. That was just another thing that had pulled him to her. Something else that had made him create the soul bond. He hadn't needed to. He could have lived without it.

But Sara was the one that made him think of the new ways to torture a person, the one that made him think of how he should carry out his plans with style. And discretion. A blend that she herself used. A perfect blend.

And though morbid, it worked for him. Think of her, and he would have a new spell, one that burned the skin off his victims. Think of her and he would have a new elaborate scheme, one that would drive forward his plans, yet be glamored to look_ good_. A plan that Dippet would believe had done him, or the school, a favour.

With that in mind, he graciously opened the door to his room for Sara.

The girl went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of her pyjamas that she had put in his room that afternoon. The witch stepped into the bathroom and Tom tugged on his own sleep clothes.

They didn't speak as the both climbed into the bed and fell asleep.

They didn't speak when they woke up in the same positions as the night before.

And neither spoke when they made the walk to the library.

Such was their routine.

* * *

**A/N:** The Barber of Seville was written by Gioachino Rossini who I happen to love. Yes, I enjoy opera music.

Also, I have determined that this story will be presented in the parts -Books, if you will- with a month separating each new Book. Each Book will contain a series of Arcs, which are almost like musical phrases in my mind. I think that there will be two Arcs per Book.

The chapter titles will be changed to fit this format: Book #. Arc #. Chapter #.

Each Book will have a preface.

Cheers to all!


	8. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 7

Only the Good are Weak

**Onesmartcookie78**

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing.

**A/N:** 5. 150 people. Thanks to everyone! This is the longest chapter yet. I might split it in half yet... I'll probably do so after five minutes of it being posted... By the way, keep in mind that I write for myself, but post for you lot. So please review :)

Thanks to those who favourited and followed!

**maggalina:** Glad to know you are enjoying this :) you expressed some concern over the Tom/Hermione pairing; Sara has a one sided thing for Tom, but Tomione _will_ happen. Give it time. This fic spans over 5th, 6th, and 7th year at Hogwarts and beyond, so there is _plenty_ of time, rest assured.

**EDIT: ****TRANSLATIONS NOW AT BOTTOM**

**Chapter 7: Mozart- Requiem**

* * *

"Assumptions are unopened windows that foolish birds fly into, and their broken bodies are evidence gathered too late."

― Bryan Davis, _Liberator_

* * *

**Potions, Mon., Oct. 5, 1942, 13:00:**

"So, Dumbledore, how was your day?" Riddle quipped. Like he didn't know.

How did this happen? She had thought she'd been careful. Her war reflexes should have caught the foul play, and it was so obviously something he would do.

"Miss Dumbledore? Are you alright?" Professor Slughorn asked.

She was sitting next to Riddle in the middle of Potions, which just so happened to be right after lunch. He must have had one of the Lucases poison her. It was the only explanation for her sudden dizziness and nausea.

"Heather, snap out of it," Marissa sighed.

"Dumbledore, get over it. He won't bite," Sara informed her.

"He better not, he's mine!"

"No! He's mine!"

"You're all wrong, he belongs to me!" Liz claimed. Was it Liz, Heather wondered? Sounds were becoming fuzzy, voices blurring together, meshing into one big wall of white noise.

"Does not!"

"Does too!"

"Children, settle down!" The voices were indistinguishable now, and the classroom was fading before her eyes. Swirls of color transformed the classroom and its occupants into blobs of their former selves. "Tom, take Miss Dumbledore to the Hospital Wing!"

"Yes, sir." Was the last thing she heard before she passed out.

* * *

**Library, Sat., Oct. 3, 1942, 15:00**

Hermione and Sara sat in the library in silence. Neither had planned to meet the other in the haven, but it was just the way things had worked out. Having spent most of the morning in Hogsmeade with her uncle, Hermione had got rather bored of people really quickly.

She'd been searching for some peace and quiet only to find Sara sitting alone at the table that Hermione -in her time- had considered hers.

She was doing her schoolwork like the good student she was and Sara was reading a book that seemed to be in German. The other girl's face was contorted from frustration and her eyes flew across the page quickly. She seemed to read as fast if not faster than Hermione.

Hermione had, at first, been relatively surprised at the foreign language, only to remember that Sara had fought in a war in Germany. It made sense, therefore, that she spoke some of the language, or could at least read it.

"_Warum muss dies so schwierig sein!"_ Sara exclaimed suddenly, slamming the text closed. _Yeah, she speaks it too. "Gibt es keine Lösung?"_

"_Je suis désolé, quoi?"_ Hermione said back, not even aware that she had slipped so naturally into French. Her role seemed to be getting easier and easier to play, though it had only been three days.

"She said: 'Why must this be so difficult, is there no solution'." A voice sneered as the person dropped down next to the Lucas girl. It was Riddle and he seemed pissed.

"_Was ist das? Ich könnte deine Verärgerung aus meiner Aufenthaltsraum fühlen."_ He said in the same language Sara had spoken in.

So Voldemort was a linguist. He could speak Parseltongue, French and German. The cultured air he had about him in her mind seemed to increase with the information. There was no doubt that Voldie was refined, or tried really hard to be a refined gentleman.

Sara snorted: _"Sie vorgeben zu kümmern. Wir wissen beide, dass der weniger finde ich, desto mehr profitieren Sie."_

Voldemort smirked: _"Das ist eine Lüge. Ich kümmere, aber nur, wenn wirkt sich mein Studium."_

"Bastard." Sara said clearly, _"Und ich kann garantieren, dass du warst nicht studieren, sondern foltern jemand."_

"Well, when you put it that way, you must be right," Riddle laughed and it was completely unlike his high, cold laugh from her time; this laugh was deep, rich and incredibly- not going there. "But enough of that, it is rude for us to speak as though _Fräulein_ Dumbledore is not here." His voice was so ridiculously saccharine that Hermione's teeth hurt. If her parents were here, they would have had to check her for cavities.

"Thank you for including me, _Monsieur_ Riddle, it is always a pleasure to speak with you." She played nice despite the part of her screaming to snort at his antics.

"I'm sure it's more enjoyable for me than you, Miss Dumbledore, as I have something pretty to look at." He added the last part as an afterthought, but said it in that same disgusting tone.

"Oh, barf," Marissa commented as she passed by, grabbing Sara's elbow and excusing her from the conversation.

"I didn't know you could read, Lucas!" Evan shouted from across the library. The librarian, however, was too busy nursing a bottle of sherry to care. The two sisters made their way to him and chatted amongst themselves, leaving Hermione in an area closed off from the rest of the library. Right near the Restricted Section.

She and Riddle sat across from each together, sizing one another up in the most non-romantic way possible, both trying to see what game the other was playing.

Hermione found the answer she was looking for first. "You flatter me, Tom." Hermione replied to him, oh-so-sweetly. She layered her French accent a bit thicker than usual, trying to appear slightly swooned. Time to play him for information. Or, quite possibly make him look bad, if she played her cards right.

He raised an eyebrow: "I should hope so, considering you're my next conquest." So he was going to flat out flirt with her. And not very well, might she add. Victor had given her more swoon-worthy comments than that, and he didn't have a very large vocabulary. His tongue, she had found, was better suited for _other_ things.

Wait. That had sounded suggestive. She had meant that he, like Ron (was this a trend?), was more suited for eating then speaking.

Therefore, she couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes, forcing a playful smile to cover her tracks, "Your reputation does not fail you, _Tom_." She emphasized his name, feeling disgusted to even address him as such. "You're as charming as you are handsome." Hermione would admit that he was neither. She would more than likely have been sick at the thought. Heather, unfortunately, would believe the opposite.

"And now you flatter _me_ too much. Anymore and you will make me blush, _Fräulein_." He winked and Hermione tried not to appear completely repulsed.

"Oh, Tom, _tu es trop gentil_," She said, slipping into her French and forcing herself to blush slightly.

_"Vous êtes une femme très stupide. Je me demande comment vous avez appris tant de choses sur moi? Comme mon nom, par exemple? Je vais voir finalement, Mlle Dumbledore, et vous avez été prévenu..." _He murmured, comforted by the fact that no other students would be able to understand what they were saying. He snatched her hand in what probably looked like a caring manner from a distance -even throwing in a grin- but was bone-crushing in grip.

Hermione's hand ached under his hold, but she forced herself to remain calm, even throwing in a small pout for dramatic effect before saying, _"Vos mains sont froides comme de la glace, Tom, tu ne me laisse pas y aller?" __I must show no weakness. It does not hurt_. _"En ce qui concerne votre insulte, vous ne savez rien de moi. Je pense que vous trouverez que je sois assez intelligent, M. Riddle."_ _It does not hurt,_ she fought not to wince, struggled to keep her voice light. _"Comme je l'ai dit, je sais que vos nom grâce à Sara, Tom. Maintenant, pouvons-nous être civile? je suis sûr que nous pouvons parvenir à un accord rapidement, parce que nous sommes dans le même moule."_

_He must think me a foolish girl, despite what I say. I must throw him off track._

Though her pride was screaming at her for throwing it to the gutter. She was going to have to dumb herself down in class if she wanted to be realistic. Her heart leapt suddenly, recalling that she didn't have every class with Voldemort. _Sara's in all of my classes though..._ So she would have to keep the image up all of the time. Shite. Her inner Ravenclaw was screaming at her, her inner know-it-all already berating her.

_"Oui, je pense que nous sommes sur presque le même niveau que je ne voulais pas vous insulter," _he released her hand and Hermione almost jumped up in an attempt to escape him for the day. _"Je n'avais que peur que les autres élèves ont été répandre des rumeurs sur moi,"_ at this bit of bullshite, he cast his eyes away from her in an expression nearing shame. There was no arguing; he was a brilliant actor. "_Vous devriez savoir comment il se sent d'avoir des gens se moquent de vous. Etre moyens les plus populaires de plus de retour coups de couteau."_

Way to throw in a backhanded insult!

_"Cependant, j'ai encore du mal à voir comment vous avez réussi à trouver mon nom. J'ai plutôt qu'on déteste, et c'est un secret embarrassant ... Celui que j'ai le plus proche garder dans mon cœur."_ Hermione barely stopped herself from spluttering at the explanation. He wanted to play _vulnerable?_ Go on about a heart that he didn't have?

"What do you mean, Tom?" She forced out, trying to stop herself from hexing him.

"He's bluffing, ignore his paranoia," Sara had returned, "_Du bist ohne Beweise beschuldigt,_ Tom_."_ She moved to smack him upside the head, but before she could, he had caught her hand and yanked her down beside him.

He whispered into her ear. "_Sie waren zu lange gegangen und ich verlor mein Temperament. Jetzt wessen Schuld ist das?"_

"Calm down, Tom, you're like a two year old when you lose your temper," Sara snatched her arm from his grip and stood up, smoothing her wrinkled clothes with utter distaste. "I just had these ironed, you idiot." Sara acted calmly as if his comment had no effect on her. "_Nun ist es nicht meine Schuld, so hier bleiben und verhalten, Tom, ich brauche, um ein Buch zu bekommen."_

"I'm sorry you feel that I am eavesdropping on your most unsavory secrets behind closed doors." Hermione said, blinking as though she had tears in her eyes while gathering up her books. There, now any suspicion should be completely driven away from her. He was so going to believe that she was just another one of his sycophantic fangirls. "If you need me, I'll be in the common room." She sniffed at Sara who had just come back.

"What happened, Tom?" Sara slid back next to him, opening her book.

"It appears that I have offended Miss Dumbledore," He leaned forward to look at the cover, "Dunkle Flüche und ihre Gegenzauber. _Dark Curses and Their Counterspells_?" He cocked a brow, "so you have found something?"

"Yeah, this could be really helpful." She answered, already in the midst of perusing it.

"So I won't be able to blackmail you anymore," he sighed. "Shame."

"Unless you take this one like all of the others," Sara deadpanned.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said innocently, though the expression just made him look all the more guilty. He knew that. He directed his eyes toward the spectacle Marissa and Prewett were making. "We should stop them, considering we're prefects."

"Don't try to change the topic. It's obvious that it's you," Sara snorted, "the books all go missing when I find even a tiny nugget of information in them. And I know you've been using our connection, because even if I don't say anything about the contents of the books, you seem to know and they _still _go missing."

"I think I'm going to go stop them myself then," Tom said, avoiding the question. It wasn't that he couldn't defend himself and create a convincing enough lie detailing how it couldn't have been him stealing the books, it was simply the fact that Sara would know of his fabrication. "You will think me too harsh if you let me handle it myself though." He warned, attempting to goad her away from the conversation.

"Tommy, you're just mad because Heather doesn't like you," Riddle scowled at the nickname and she smirked like the cat that ate the canary, an expression he himself had taught her, "or perhaps you still think her suspicious?"

"She is." Riddle deadpanned before he walked away to stop the show Marissa and Prewett were putting on, planning to demonstrate what exactly an angry Slytherin could do.

Sara followed, persisting: "You still haven't told me why you think that."

"For one, she hated me right off the bat. That was all she could think about when I cornered her for saying that I was the Heir of Slytherin, or could be. That was a little too close to the truth for me. Then there's the fact that she _remembers _that I cornered her, something that I took precautions to avoid."

"You're forgetting the main point- the one that has smashed your pride to pieces." Sara ran a finger down the spine of the book, her green eyes meeting his, a light smile on her lips.

"Ah, I know what you mean. She doesn't find me attractive, and everyone, including you, does." He finished for her, smirking.

"Egotistical, much?" The witch rolled her eyes.

"Enough for both of us, love." He shot back.

"No, I was referring to the fact that she doesn't respect your magic."

"She will."

"You'll have to make her; she's much more resilient than you had originally accounted for in the plans."

"Soon. It will happen very soon." He sent a pointed look in her direction, "do not think that you will not be a part of this just because you are partial to her, love. You're going to be the main player in this game." He raised his eyebrow in a silent dare and the Ravenclaw barely managed to contain a gulp.

So she steered the conversation to a safer place, rolling her eyes and saying, "I'm going to reiterate this: your current reason for acting like a spoilt child is that Heather hasn't fallen for your oh-so-charming demeanor."

"Not yet, but believe me, Sara, she will. Carry out phase one." With that said, he turned abruptly and left the library, leaving Sara to deal with the mess her sister was making of the place.

* * *

**Ravenclaw Girl's Dorm, Sunday, Oct. 4, 1942, 18:45:**

Hermione wouldn't say that she ran from her problems. She faced them head on. And that was why, she told herself, she was camping out in her dorm room. Because _Heather_ would have done so after that sort of encounter with Riddle.

Hermione wouldn't have hid... would she?

Stuck in a never-ending paradox of just where Hermione began and Heather ended, she decided that today she needed a break. A break from Riddle, from the Lucases, she needed a break from herself! Heather Dumbledore and Hermione Granger were two different people, fighting to rule one body and she needed a break from it.

She didn't dare venture down to the kitchens for fear of seeing Tom, and, seeing as he always seemed to be at the library, couldn't go there either. Surprisingly enough, no one bothered her in the girl's dorm that afternoon and she was able to spend her day suffering from an identity crisis on her bed.

With about fifteen minutes left 'till dinner, Sara suddenly stormed into the room. She didn't notice Heather as she paced back and forth, her magic crackling dangerously. She ended in front of a mirror and all of her suppressed fury burst out. All of the glass in the room blew into bits simultaneously, save for the mirror. That was saved for last as the other girl put her hand to it and watched her reflection shatter with palpable satisfaction.

That's when she discovered that she wasn't alone. Hermione was astounded when the Lucas girl didn't even acknowledge her, just sank to the ground without a word. She put her head in her hands and then everything was repairing itself.

"Sara, _qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?_" Hermione went to her side, annoyed that her own moping had been disrupted.

"Tom fucking Riddle, that's _what_! I can't let him _use_ me anymore!"

"_Use_ you?" Hermione was thinking a very different kind of use than Sara clearly, as she immediately leapt to her feet, her own magic having escalated to levels that it shouldn't. Emotions flooded through Hermione, some of which were easily identifiable: anger, hatred, jealousy. Jealousy? Yeah, jealousy that when this was all over, _Sara_ would be the one with just cause for kicking Riddle where he deserved it.

"Yes, use me! That's all he ever does! I always have to lie to my sisters and I can't anymore! I shouldn't have to lie to protect him! If anyone finds out about this, we will _both _be expelled!"

Hermione thought through the school rules on student conduct; relations of the romantic nature were alright, so long as they didn't lead to... well, _that_. Both of the involved students would be expelled if they had such relationships.

It explained all of the touching in class on Friday, how he had laughed at what she had said to him in the library yesterday. It explained why they missed breakfast and how when they _did_ go to breakfast, they came _together_. It made sense.

Tom Riddle was raping Sara Lucas! He was a heartbreaker, a ladykiller, Dumbledore had even said so, but a rapist? The most disgusting crime in all of the world, of course he would do it.

Meanwhile, Sara had been ranting, but Hermione's mind had been whirling too much for her to pay attention.

"-I should be able to have one free night, but _no_, I've got to help him with something every night! Why can't he get someone else to-"

Hermione tuned out again. There. Confirmation. He _was_ raping her! She _knew _it!

"Where is that son of a bitch!" Heather cut her off angrily. If Sara wouldn't stand up to him, then she would for her.

"The library, but I think you misunderstood-" Sara began, but Hermione had already left. "Damn. And he wanted me to get close to her. That went horribly." She sighed, sinking onto her bed. "He's either going to laugh at me for getting across the wrong message or kill me."

She had, of course, meant to insinuate that Riddle was forcing her to be a Knight. Heather's questions on Friday morning, along with the annoying, knowing glint in the girl's brown eyes had implied that she knew more than she let on.

Of course, Sara knew more about Heather than one would think.

* * *

**A/N:** I love Mozart... :)

**TRANSLATIONS:**

**_Je suis désolé, quoi_**means: I'm sorry, what?

_**Was ist das? Ich könnte deine Verärgerung aus meiner Aufenthaltsraum**** fühlen** _means: What is it? I could feel your anger from my common room.

_****__Sie vorgeben zu kümmern. Wir wissen beide, dass der weniger finde ich, desto mehr profitieren Sie_ means: You pretend to care, but we both know that the less I find, the more you benefit.

_****__Das ist eine Lüge. Ich kümmere, aber nur, wenn wirkt sich mein Studium_means: That's a lie; I care, but only if it affects my studies

_****__Und ich kann garantieren, dass du warst nicht studieren, sondern foltern jemand_means: And I can guarantee that you were not studying, but torturing someone.

_****__tu es trop gentil_ means: You're too nice/kind

_****__Vous êtes une femme très stupide. Je me demande comment vous avez appris tant de choses sur moi? Comme mon nom, par exemple? Je vais voir finalement, Mlle Dumbledore, et vous avez été prévenu_means: You are a very stupid woman. I wonder how you learned so much about me? Like my middle name, for example. I'll find out eventually, Miss Dumbledore, and you have been warned.

_****__Vos mains sont froides comme de la glace, Tom, tu ne me laisse pas y aller?_means: Your hands are as cold as ice, Tom, will you not let me go?

_****__En ce qui concerne votre insulte, vous ne savez rien de moi. Je pense que vous trouverez que je sois assez intelligent, M. Riddle_**_En ce qui concerne votre insulte, vous ne savez rien de moi. Je pense que vous trouverez que je sois assez intelligent, M. Riddle_** means: Regarding your insult, you know nothing about me. I think you'll find that I am quite intelligent, Mr. Riddle.

**___Comme je l'ai dit, je sais que vos nom grâce à Sara, Tom. Maintenant, pouvons-nous être civile? je suis sûr que nous pouvons parvenir à un accord rapidement, parce que nous sommes dans le même moule_ **means: As I said before, I know your middle name through, Sara, Tom. Now can we be civil? I'm sure we can reach an agreement quickly because we are of the same mold.

_****__Oui, je pense que nous sommes sur presque le même niveau que je ne voulais pas vous insulter_means: Yes, I think we are on the same level, as I didn't really want to insult you.

_****__Je n'avais que peur que les autres élèves ont été répandre des rumeurs sur moi_means: I was only afraid that the other students have been spreading rumours about me.

_****__Vous devriez savoir comment il se sent d'avoir des gens se moquent de vous. Etre moyens les plus populaires de plus de retour coups de couteau_means: You should know how it feels to have people laugh at you. Being the most popular means more backstabbing.

_****__Cependant, j'ai encore du mal à voir comment vous avez réussi à trouver mon nom. J'ai plutôt qu'on déteste, et c'est un secret embarrassant ... Celui que j'ai le plus proche garder dans mon cœur_means: However, I still cannot see how you managed to find out my middle name. I rather hate it, and it's an embarrassing secret... the one I keep closest to my heart.

**___Du bist ohne Beweise beschuldigt_ **means: You are accusing [Hermione] without evidence

_**Sie waren zu lange gegangen und ich verlor mein Temperament. Jetzt wessen Schuld ist das**_ means: You were gone for too long and I lost my temper. Now whose fault is that?

**___Nun ist es nicht meine Schuld, so hier bleiben und verhalten, Tom, ich brauche, um ein Buch zu____ bekommen_**__means: Now it's not my fault, so stay here and behave, Tom, I need to go get a book.

_****__qu'est-ce qui ne va pas_ means: What's wrong?


	9. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 8

Only the Good are Weak

**Onesmartcookie78**

**Disclaimer:** You know the drill...

**A/N:** Yeah, it went as expected. I did split it in half... The second part of chapter 7, otherwise known as chapter 8! Thanks to everyone who even _glanced_ at this, those who reviewed (from now on I'll PM my thanks), followed or favourited. Also; would you lot like a summary of each chapter included before the chapter begins? Or a recap of the last chapter? I'm always trying to improve and I adore constructive criticism so please- review! Tell me what you want, need and or didn't like.

**IMPORTANT NOTICE:** The ending isn't set in stone yet; I have written an ending where everything that leads up to it makes MAJOR sense, but it's not a HOEA. **I CAN WRITE A HAPPY ENDING BUT I NEED YOU LOT TO TELL ME IF THAT IS WHAT YOU WANT**. Review or PM with your answer. Hell, I'll even set up a vote on my profile, if you want!

**TRANSLATIONS**** AT BOTTOM**

_For **maggalina**, who had a bad day :)_

**Chapter 8: The Music Box Angel**

* * *

"The truth is rarely pure and never simple."

― Oscar Wilde, _The Importance of Being Earnest_

* * *

**Library, Sunday, Oct. 4, 1942, 19:00:**

As Hermione marched down the corridors to her destination, many would later say that she appeared to be on a mission. She shoved other students out of her way, ploughed over those that didn't move, and never once uttered an apology or excuse.

It was so... un-Hermione-like that it fit in the character of Heather (for she had finally come to the conclusion that Heather was just that) well.

As it was now dinner time, there were few people in the library. Tom looked up as she threw open the doors, not caring that they had slammed against the walls, a slow grin curling over his features until he noticed her expression. At that point, he raised a speculative eyebrow.

"Something you need me for, Miss-"

He didn't finish his statement as Hermione swept her arm across the table, indifferent to the fact that she had knocked precious tomes to the tile. Riddle's inkpot burst open and whichever essay he had been working on was officially ruined.

To say he looked appalled would be inaccurate. A mixture of emotions passed over his stony face, the most prominent being anger. He stood, his one hundred eighty-three centimetre frame instantly trumping her one hundred sixty-eight centimetres.

It was a sight to behold; her face, flushed in her fury, hands balled into fists, magic swirling around her viciously and him, cool and collected.

"I can't believe you! What exactly are you doing to Sara Lucas!" Hermione roared in his face.

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" He replied, cocking his damn brow again. "I can't answer your question if-"

"I already asked you my question, so don't give me that! What game are you playing, Riddle?" Her magic was out of her control, slamming into him, knocking him backward slightly before he regained his footing, a malevolent glint in his eyes.

"I don't know what you are talking about," they were causing a scene for the few Ravenclaws studious enough to skip dinner, and gossip was sure to spread. He denied everything so casually, that had Hermione not been skilled in Legilimency, she wouldn't have known he was lying.

She forced her way into his mind, feeling him try to stop her, but she brutally shoved him aside and continued on. Perhaps he was more skilled at Occlumency than she thought though, for his thoughts were carefully blank.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Tom pushed her away from him physically, severing the connection.

The nosy Ravenclaws were confused at that- how could he be angry at the new girl for simply staring at him angrily? Not to mention Dumbledore's niece had a point. There was most certainly something strange about the relationship between Tom Riddle and Sara Lucas.

_RIP!_ went the fabric of Tom Riddle's school existence. A bit of his facade had fallen away. Luckily, the darkness underneath it was still hidden from the world.

"What are you doing to Sara Lucas." Hermione demanded, her magic whipping around her dangerously. Her hair had returned to it's previously bushy state, and, she was sure, was a sight to behold. A ridiculous one, at that.

"You must be less intelligent than I thought, because variety is the spice of life and you just keep repeating the same thing over and over, like a broken record." He advanced on her with a single step, putting them nose to nose. He could still make this work. The situation was still salvageable. He had provoked her -rather Sara had- and now all he needed was to drag this out long enough to see what would make the raven snap.

Heather Dumbledore would probably have backed down, because he was so powerful, because she was just a little bit scared of him. But Hermione Granger would not step down. Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort -whichever name he went by, it made no difference to Hermione- he had killed her friends, murdered them! She refused to allow him to hurt anyone else. Her feminist side was screaming at her that another woman was being subjected to something she didn't want. That in this time, women didn't really have rights to begin with. That, perhaps, Sara was much more docile and obedient then she had originally thought. That another woman needed help.

"Care for me to rephrase it you _bastard_?" She emphasized the word, hoping it would sink in that she knew him only a half-blood. His nostrils flared at the word, and he laughed derisively, seeming to only think it an insult.

"At least I'm not a pureblood inbred," He chuckled darkly, "yes, I know about that."

The Ravenclaws couldn't believe their luck! Tom Riddle was being incredibly rude to Dumbledore's niece! Should they tell their Transfiguration teacher? No, they could spread it around the school though. Maybe he would get distracted by the rumors and they could take his place at the top of the class.

Hermione continued as though he had said nothing: "Or are you smart enough to figure out what I'm saying? _Pourquoi avez-vous mal Sara Lucas, fils de pute?_"

"Because I can," he lazily twirled the yew, thirteen and a half inch phoenix feather wand between his fingers. "Don't you know that _I_, a _prefect_, enjoy hurting people? Honestly, you daft, barmy, _bint_, do you _really _think Slughorn and Dippet would _allow _me to be prefect if I was like that? You've lost your marbles, dear, so come back when you've found them. _If_ you had any to begin with."

That was uncalled for. Heather Dumbledore had proven herself a very intelligent Ravenclaw in class yesterday. Why was Riddle being so derisive towards her?

Hermione glared at him, soaking up his words, carefully choosing her response. A punch to the face seemed like a pretty good solution at the time. So she carried out her reply, using her fist. A loud _CRACK!_ resounded throughout the room and some of the more infatuated audience gasped.

Heather spun easily on her heel, looking completely unaffected, some would even say happy, and left the library, skipping. On second thought though, she returned, kicked Tom where it hurts, and _then_ made her exit.

When she had slugged Malfoy in third year, she'd been smaller, but now she was stronger and though she wasn't at her best, she certainly knew how to throw her weight into her blows.

Tom sunk to his knees on the floor, groaning in pain.

* * *

**Monday, Oct. 5, 1942, 11:00:**

Both Hermione _and_ Heather hid from Tom on Monday. She stayed as far away from him as she could get away with in class, and even further in some cases. At lunch, he glared at her from the Slytherin table, and Hermione lamented that she had never managed to ask Sara what she had meant, as Tom seemed to think that she was stark-raving mad.

She bit her tongue though, not wanting the other girl to omit anything due to her sister's presences, and ate her lunch.

How odd it was that her fellow Ravenclaw didn't seem to trust her own sisters. She really was a snake.

She was so concerned with looking at Voldemort that she neglected to notice the guilty look Sara gave her and the small flask she pulled out.

Quick as lightning, Sara had spiked Heather's drink, sent an incensed glower at Riddle, and returned to her food, an unsettled ball at the pit of her stomach. The sleight of hand trick was something she knew well from her failed assassination attempt on Grindewald- the one that had landed her in the basement of his headquarters for half a year. This time she hoped that no one had noticed.

Shakily, she brought her own glass to her lips.

After lunch, Tom managed to pull her aside. "It's been done?"

Sara handed him the empty vial and peered at him from under her eyelashes, "Yes, _dominus meus_. Phase two complete."

* * *

**Slytherin Boy's Dorms, Mon., Oct. 5, 1942, 13:30:**

When Hermione woke up, she knew without a doubt that she wasn't in the Ravenclaw girl's dorms or even the Hospital Wing. In fact, she had no idea _where_ she was, or at least that's how things would have worked if she were dense.

But this _is_ Hermione Granger we're talking about people, give her some credit; she can put two and two together.

And make four she did; the room was swathed in green and silver, the furniture carved out of dark ebony. She was lying in a pool of Salazar-green silk, and if _that_ wasn't obvious, she didn't know what was. The slippery fabric clung to her body and was twisted all around her as though she had tossed and turned.

She would have to be dense to not know her current predicament.

She would have to be dense to not know that she had landed herself in the snake's pit.

She would have to be dense to not know that this had all been an elaborate scheme.

Every word, every implication, every culpable action. It was all just a small part of something so much more intricate.

She didn't dare open her eyes more than half-way, because judging from the smell of the bed, she would be greeted by Voldie-dearest, the loveliest bloke with no nose she'd ever meet.

Alas, peace is not meant to last. "I know you are awake, Dumbledore."

"Perhaps that sounded a little less creepy in your head?" She sniped.

"You wound me. Care to tell what you were dreaming about? You said some... intriguing things."

"I honestly forget, but I may be willing to tell you if you tell me what I said." She answered, forgetting where she was and that she should be demanding answers from him. Like that had worked last time. But what if she'd said something that compromised the timeline! Or if she had let on just how much she knew about him? That information was much more important than what he had done to her.

"Something about a 'damn blonde, albino ferret'. 'Greasy hair', I believe you said," then his mask turned amused, "you mentioned me not having a nose."

Hermione snickered at that. "Must have been Abraxas-" she checked her mental timeline; yup, that was the correct Malfoy. "-Malfoy I was talking about. He was peeping in the girl's bathroom the other day," she recalled Marissa having told her that and was grateful for the information. "Greasy hair refers to Eileen Prince who decided that she hates Marissa," that Lucas was really a gossip, she realised, "and you never know- in the future you may have no nose." She snickered again.

"Funny," he chuckled, "that you should say 'Lord Voldemort' instead of 'Tom' though." His eyes narrowed as he jabbed his wand into her throat. "Who are you _really_, Dumbledore?" He mused, almost to himself, "and why do I get the feeling that you don't belong here?"

Hermione swallowed, but he continued before she could open her mouth.

"Did you think that it had escaped Sara's -and therefore my- attention that you don't have a worldly possession other than a tiny pink purse charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm, one of the hardest spells to master? That somehow you know things about me that you shouldn't? Unless Dumbledore put you up to spying on me."

Hermione felt a burning fire spread down her neck from the tip of his wand, but refused to give him the satisfaction of screaming. "I assure you, if I was spying on you, it would be for me, not Uncle Albus." There was a pause as an arrogant, seductive grin worked its way across his angular features. "That sounded bad."

"Indeed." His eyes hardened to slits, much like Nagini's. "You can attempt to use that as an excuse all you like, Dumbledore, but we both know how you really feel. Now, pray tell, who is Harry Potter?"

Shock quickly worked its way across her features, "W-what?"

"You should know that sleep leaves the mind vulnerable to Legilimency, since you are clearly a Legilimens yourself. Did you not see it wise to learn Occlumency why you were at it?" He sneered. "So, who, Dumbledore? I want to know what he is to you and why all you could think about was him dying by a bloke with no nose that you called Voldemort in _Hogwarts_, nonetheless."

"Maybe it was a different Voldemort?" She tried weakly.

He laughed again, the rich sound filling the cavernous space. It was a cultured, refined sound, like he'd been everywhere and seen everything, elegant yet, somehow, still that of a mere teenager. Boyish, mocking, egotistically seductive. An orchestra she'd never heard play before, a genre of music she'd never listened to. A web of complexity that she could never hope to solve. "Not to mention you just insinuated that having no nose may befall me in the near future." His green eyes bore holes into hers and she began to panic.

Her jaw worked as she tried to think positively. Well, he didn't know that she was an Occlumens. That was advantageous. She tried to calm her mind, but the only thing reverberating through her skull was a resounding _SHITE!_

She needed to find a way out of this! He couldn't know already that she was a time traveler! That occurrence hadn't factored into her plans until seventh year at least! And even still, she had yet to come up with a plan if that happened.

The world slowed down as she contemplated her options, seeming much like a telly on pause.

Hermione supposed she had underestimated Voldemort just a bit. She had figured he would be a child untouched by the depths of wisdom, innocent in that aspect like a normal teenager. But he wasn't and that was truly her mistake. He would want to be above everyone else. He _hungered_ for knowledge, _just like her_. He wanted to know everything, _just like her._ He knew where to look and what to look for, _just like her_.

It was painful, how similar she was to the young man standing in front of her. The boy who would grow into a monster- no. The boy who already _was _a monster. The boy who would kill Myrtle by the end of the year. The boy who would taste his first blood in June. The boy who would thrill in the darkness of murder, who would wait merely a few months before going on to kill his own father.

Hermione wondered for one sick moment if he had simply bound his father, killed his grandparents and then went back to father. Had he tortured him? _Crucio-_ed him for fun? Out of anger? Had Tom Riddle felt cool detachment whilst his father suffered?

What made Tom Riddle tick? Anything? How had he become this way? Perhaps being the spawn of a love sick mother whom had utilised a love potion to seduce his father had altered him on a mental -genetic?- level. Had it made him incapable of love?

Or had he been treated so horribly at the orphanage that this had been doomed to happen?

The Cruciatus Curse seemed to be his favourite spell (after the Killing Curse, of course) but did he ever tire of it? Had he ever killed the muggle way? Felt that perverse satisfaction at the blood seeping from a mutilated body? _She_ hadn't, but then she was a sociopathic killer with sadistic and more than likely masochistic tendencies.

Hermione would bet anything that Tom Riddle had hematolagnia.

Then it was as if the world had resumed play and everything was happening ludicrously fast. She found her hand reaching up sneakily, her finger barely flicking in a display of the wandless magic Sara was so fond of.

_Confundus!_

Confusion flickered over Riddle's face and she took the opportunity to thrust her fist into his face. Great. Not only had she kicked Riddle in the balls, but she had now punched him in the face. Twice.

'_That felt good.'_

"_Damn straight that should have felt good!"_ Fawkes replied. _"The bastard tried to kill you!"_

'_Where you been?'_ Hermione threw out there, hoping he would respond and not try to ignore her inquiry. She gazed wearily at Voldemort's body: _'Something's wrong, that was too easy.'_ She thought.

"_I flew around London for a while since I forgot where some of the old shops were. I figured it would help since you would more than likely be going to the _Leaky Cauldron_ when you leave for the summer."_

Hermione found her wand on Riddle's bedside table and retrieved it, not willing to see how long her punch had knocked him out.

_Obliviate!_ She erased his memories of the day. She would have replaced them with false memories, but had a feeling that Riddle would be able to determine that they were phony. If she had performed the spell well enough though, he wouldn't be able to recover the day's happenings. That left only Sara -the Lucas she was sure had poisoned her- as a loose end.

She would have to get her next.

"_Do you want me to put her in the Hospital Wing for you?"_ Fawkes's eyes would be twinkling, she knew it.

And then a devious thought crept through Hermione's mind. _'No, I have something else planned.'_

She moved to the door to open it, but could not. She clutched her wand in her hand tightly, "_Alohomora_," she whispered, waiting for the signifying click. It never came.

Of course he hadn't put a simple_ Colloportus_ on his bedroom door, a spell that could be lifted by a charm most learned in first year Charms. No, he was intelligent and liked to prove his superiority. More than likely it wasn't even a locking charm.

So what would he have done to keep unsavory people from his room? If it were her, she would have warded the room and placed muggle precautions that wizards would never think of. But was Tom Riddle alike her? Sure, their intellect rivaled that of the other, but would he really use _muggle_ tactics? He despised them, so she was leaning towards no. At the same time though, he was living in an orphanage, was possessive of his objects, and didn't have magic at his disposal.

And that left her at a standstill. Checking wouldn't take that much more time, but she needed to make her escape... Sighing, she levitated Tom into his bed, thought up a lie in case she couldn't break through his wards, and went about checking for hairs stuck in his doorframe, or other such detection devices.

She found three pieces of hair wedged in the doorframe at specific intervals. She mentally catalogued their positions and went to work untangling the wards.

She placed her wand to the centre of the door and sent a tentative string of magic at the invisible barriers to see how they would react. Her magic came to a screeching halt at the equivalent of an iron wall. Her magic rippled with the force at which she had stuck it, an uncomfortable tingling sensation much like hitting one's elbow.

Hermione's reaction was a barely suppressed shudder. She worked as quickly as she could, but Tom was an exceptional wizard and she made it about halfway through before she felt arms around her waist, halting her progress.

"And what do you think you are doing, _mea corvus_?" Riddle trailed a finger down her cheek, his breath on her ear, "are you really trying to leave so soon?"

Regaining control of her senses, Hermione attempted to jab an elbow into his chest whilst simultaneously stomping on his foot. He evaded her first attack, and though the second struck and he hissed with pain, he didn't release her.

"And what, _mea corvus_, are you running away from? Are you afraid that I will do what I am allegedly doing to Sara Lucas _to you_?" He spun her around to face him, his hand clenching both of hers in one. The scene was vaguely reminiscent of their previous escapade in that abandoned classroom on the first day, making Hermione feel even more sick.

'_Shite. Fawkes where are you now?'_

"_In the hallway, and you're about to have company!"_

At that very moment, there was an impatient knock on the door before -wards be damned- it was kicked open. And there in the now gaping hole in the wall was Liz Lucas.

The other Ravenclaw didn't pay Heather any attention, throwing herself at Tom with so much force that he fell onto his bed with her in his lap. The Lucas was sobbing, and Tom's polite mask could only take a few minutes of the exaggerated behaviour before he cracked and shoved her off of him.

"And what are you on about?" Riddle bit out, staring at Liz's form on his wood floor with disgust.

Wait, his? Why did he have his own room? She'd need to ask later.

"I-it's i-it's-" Liz took a deep breath and composed herself. "It's Sara, Tom. She, Marissa and Hannah were on their way to Muggle Studies when she fell down the stairs. I followed them to the Hospital Wing, b-but-" More tears trailed their way down her cheeks.

"But what?" Tom's cold voice broke through her tears.

"Can't you be even a little considerate, Riddle?" Hermione snapped, "she's talking about her sister here!"

Riddle gave her a sharp glare at her raised tone and Hermione found herself shrinking back slightly. "Very well, _meus corvus_," then to Liz, "what happened?"

"S-she-" Liz had given Hermione the impression that she didn't care for or even like her sisters, but she seemed to be partial to at least her older one.

"Shh," Heather comforted her a bit reluctantly, as her curiosity was piqued. "Just tell us what happened and take your time."

Riddle's scowl intensified, "I don't have time for this," and with that he strode out of the room.

Fan yourselves, ladies, because he wasn't wearing his uniform properly. White sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, top three buttons undone, tie slightly off centre and loosed. Shirt untucked, and hair mussed. Not to mention, he wasn't wearing shoes, something so incredibly trivial that Hermione nearly choked out a laugh.

In her head, Voldemort was larger than life. Until she'd come into the past, she'd forgotten that Dark Lords needed to eat and sleep too. Seeing him run around in socks was just another added bonus that brought him down from his high horse in her head.

_Take that, Voldie_.

"So what happened?" Hermione coaxed Liz.

"She was walking up the stairs," Liz brushed the tears from her cheeks, "and she just stopped all of the sudden... almost like she was frozen. Then she fell backwards. Hannah and Marissa rushed her to the Hospital Wing and I followed them. S-she- she looked _dead_." Liz buried her face in her hands, "and when I got there, Hannah had taken Sara in and Marissa was standing guard. She refused to let me in, said that Sara wouldn't want to see me!"

Unsure, Hermione patted her head. She'd never really had any female friends... Lavender and Parvati were too girly for her tastes, and though Ginny had been nice enough and the brother of her best friend, she wasn't far off from the other giggling Gryffindor girls.

To say Hermione was surprised when Liz threw her arms around her neck would be an understatement. Awkwardly, she patted the girl's back, uncertain what was expected from her in this situation.

With Harry or Ron, she would have hugged them and told them everything was going to be alright, but she didn't know Liz well enough yet. She settled on patting her head and promising she would get her in the Hospital Wing- after all, she had a few questions for Sara herself.

* * *

**A/N: **This song is by Michele McLaughlin.

**TRANSLATIONS:**

_****__Pourquoi avez-vous mal Sara Lucas, fils de pute _means: What did you do to Sara Lucas, you son of a bitch?

_**Dominus meus** _is Lation for "My Lord/Master"

Likewise, **_Meus corvus_** is Latin for "my raven"


	10. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 9

Only the Good are Weak

**Onesmartcookie78**

**Summary:** "'Lord Voldemort,'" she began condescendingly, "is nothing more than a 'clever'-" at this she air-quoted- "anagram for Tom Marvolo Riddle who, coincidentally, happens to be the biggest prat I know." -Taken from cover. Time travel, Dark!Sarcastic!Tom, Tomione! Rated M for explicit language at times, hot snogging, and "adult" themes (Thanks, Liz).

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, except blah blah blah. I think you can tell what I own

**A/N:** Yes, I know it's been too long. I _was_ going to update on Thursday the eleventh, but I had a school trip early Friday morning (meaning we needed to leave at four in the morning in order to get there for the competition and check into the hotel...) and I procrastinate. A lot. It's a bad habit, dearies, so DON'T PROCASTINATE! Anyway, then I was going to post on Sunday, but we got back late and I had school in the morning. Then I got sick. I should stop going to Ireland, because every time I do, I get sick. Anyway, despite Maggie's suggestion to wait until I feel better to post, I felt guilty.

I do want to say, however, that I want **5-7 reviews** in order to post the next chapter. And no (Maggie this goes for you) one person can't review more than 1 time. Think of it as a get-well-soon gift :)

Note: **Fright Night was not my idea.** I read it somewhere (I forget, but if anyone knows, feel free to tell me) on this website and it's not mine.

_In memory of all the Jews who died because of the Nazi's._

**Chapter 9: Schindler's List**

* * *

"I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something; and because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do something that I can do."

- Helen Keller

* * *

**Slytherin Boy's Dorms, Mon., Oct. 5, 1942, 14:00:**

Tom Riddle wasn't sure what had happened; the bond he had with Sara was supposed to allow him to feel her pain, or at least when she needed him. But was it working? Liz was blabbering on and not giving him any useful information, other than that Sara'd been rushed to the Hospital Wing, but he still didn't feel anything.

The bond had been tested during her time in the war, so it wasn't faulty. Perhaps the bond hadn't alerted him because she'd been with her sisters and hadn't needed his assistance right away? Yes, that had to be it, because she _needed_ him- he'd made sure she had no chance but to stay by his side.

Blackmail was a powerful thing in the right hands.

In _his_ hands.

Whatever the case, something inside him broke when Liz just kept talking. She wasn't saying anything of importance and it was bloody irritating.

Ah, there. The feeling that his blood was boiling. Anger. He wanted to slap Liz across the room, _Crucio_ her until something useful came out of her mouth.

What he needed to know was what had happened to the injured Lucas, because she was the only one of them worth anything. Having her at his side had been most... advantageous. She was a powerful witch and a challenge. A puzzle. A riddle. And he enjoyed solving those. Or breaking them. But he couldn't break her yet, for she had continued to prove she was an asset.

And then there was pain spreading through his body like a thousand needles. So she did need him.

* * *

**Hospital Wing, Wed, Oct. 7, 1942 01:00:**

"Did she come to see you?"

"No," Sara's green eyes met Riddle's darker green in silent anger, "she didn't. You haven't been to visit me, Tommy," she teased.

"Haven't had the time and didn't give a damn," he sneered, his yew wand moving idly through his fingers.

"Then why are you here now?" She felt tired all of the sudden, his presence making her feel calmer somehow, more relaxed.

"I needed information. You're a nutter, Sara, so I'll visit you again when you become sane," he stood abruptly and made to leave.

Instantly the spell Sara had been under came to an end. "No!" She cried out of reflex.

Tom smirked, his back still to her, "Say it."

"You know I can't-"

"That's a lie, you've said it before."

"Fine then, it's because I won't-"

"You will, or I'm gone. Have a nice rest, love." He made it through the door this time before she jumped up, immediately collapsing.

"Wait," her voice was nothing more than a whimper. "Please, My Lord," she gripped the edge of the Hospital Wing bed for support as she attempted to pull herself up. "Please."

"Don't degrade yourself by begging. You know what I'm asking for and that's not it."

"Fine! I'll give you the Time-Turner! Just give me the antidote!"

"So you admit that you didn't dose her? That you hexed her to have similar symptoms to the poison? So then, why did _you_ take the poison?"

She stared at his back, refusing to answer.

Slowly, he swept around to face her, "No reply?" He remarked condescendingly, "well, you still haven't done what I asked, so goodbye." This time she didn't come after him till he was was halfway to the Slytherin common room.

"Evil, manipulative- _Voldemort_. There. Happy?" She stumbled, nearly falling on top of him before he caught her.

"Quite. Now about the Time-Turner-"

"No, _du Schwein_, you aren't getting that till tomorrow. Hospital Wing. Antidote. Now." She grit her teeth as her knees locked again, slumping into him fully.

"Sleep, love, all will be well." His eyes glinted triumphantly, his arrogance tangible.

And before she passed out, she heard him murmur something so softly she wasn't quite sure she'd heard him properly.

An egotistical: "I knew you needed me."

* * *

Like she had promised Liz, Hermione had managed to get her into the Hospital Wing. When she had attempted to enter for herself, Madam Hanesley had kicked her out with a strict 'family only' and witchy glare. She was even more difficult than Madam Pomfrey and seemed to have a less motherly disposition.

Though Pomfrey wasn't exactly the kindest witch either... at least her visiting regulations made sense. Or had made sense, rather. Will make sense? Hermione wondered if Dumbledore would know the correct tense to use when describing the future. When she put it like that though, the whole altercation seemed moot- she was describing the future, so naturally she should use the future tense. That solved that debate, she supposed.

Speaking of debates, there were so many points she wanted to argue with Riddle on. The best course of action, as she had determined earlier, was definitely to play dumb and attract as little attention from him as she could in this moment. Her know-it-all side (which she supposed hadn't been fully crushed by the war or her lack of schooling for a year, not to mention the stress of Lord Voldemort rising to power again in her fourth year) was battering on mental blocks she had put up to keep herself from answering in class. Her inner-Ravenclaw was roaring to be released -or was it her Gryffindor side?- and she just _couldn't_. He was already too suspicious.

But the Wronski Method was _so_ much better than the Klein one! She should know, she loved Arithmancy. And clearly Gilbert's essay on the deterioration of dark matter over a relative period of time made more sense then Riza's study on the same subject!

Yes, inside, Hermione Granger was slowly dying, and Heather Dumbledore -the Ravenclaw who wasn't as smart as she was speculated to be- was taking over.

She couldn't even spend quality time in the library because of her new personality. Instead, she checked out all of the books the librarian would let her -which was quite many seeing as she was drunk half the time whilst checking Hermione's latest obsessions out- and cooped herself up in her dorm.

Dippet had recently determined that because there were no first, third, fourth or sixth year Ravenclaws, they could clearly allow each girl to take a room for herself. Marisa had claimed that Sara wouldn't mind sharing a room with her, so Hermione was allowed a private room.

Each night was spent studying, making sure her homework was mediocre (for she couldn't score too well on that either) but still O worthy. It was a difficult balance, one that regulating proved to be incredibly stimulating for her busy brain, but she managed to make sure her work was flawless without being brilliant.

Tom was doing a fair amount of acting himself; in class, he raised his hand slowly, and answered as though his response was not well thought out, but a question. With a certain measured amount of hesitance, he articulated his replies clearly -eloquently- in a way that left all of the other students waiting with bated breath. It was disgusting.

On Thursday the eighth, Sara was released. The official story was that she had pushed herself too hard, stayed up too long and eaten too little, especially considering her career as a soldier only a few months prior. It was blullshite in Hermione's opinion, but then she had no feasible explanation in place of the one she had been given.

She could honestly only guess, but nothing was fitting together. She had been left with a puzzle, an enigma, but mixed in with the pieces were those of a different set. She had been given no box -no picture- to base her assembly on and some of the pieces were _just plain missing_.

She needed information. She knew some things about Riddle in his younger years, but that was through Harry and (though she loved him dearly) when he had given a recountment, he had tended to leave out things that may upset her, or that he had felt were unimportant.

Her best bet was most definitely the information Dumbledore had hidden for her, though she knew not where it was located. She didn't really even know where to start. But she was Hermione Granger (now Heather Dumbledore) and she knew how to research.

Hermione went about her classes like normal, paying special attention to the fact that Sara had neglected to come back to class. She was sure that the other witch was probably sleeping in her dorm. Perhaps even doing her schoolwork.

Whatever it was, Hermione didn't care. Like with Tom, it was best for her to stay away from the Lucases. For good. No exceptions. No Sara, no Marisa, no Liz, no Hannah, even if she had questions. She could figure it out for herself.

That's what she thought- till Halloween, at least...

* * *

Liz was being exceptionally irritating; ever since Hermione had helped her get into the Hospital Wing and Tom had "comforted" (Hermione snorted at the very thought of that) her, she had been following the two around like a lost, confused puppy. The effect was immediate: Hermione took to spending all of her time in the library -a place the other Ravenclaw wouldn't go, even if Tom happened to be there- and Riddle did the same, though in a kinder manner. He always had the perfect excuse.

Sometimes he was helping Sara with her homework -though the other girl seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth and was intelligent in her own right- or working hard on an essay. At other moments, he was assisting Olive Hornby -a younger girl- with her homework. More often than not, he had a long line of lovestruck, giggling schoolgirls to help him escape. Girls that he deemed much less annoying than Liz, so it seemed.

As a result, Liz had become more and more persistent (read: aggressive) in her efforts, even going as far as to walk _into_ the library, despite her misgivings, and _sit down_. It had been a monumental day for the frivolous Ravenclaw, and had forced Riddle to take residence in the Slytherin common room.

Where, naturally, Liz was somehow able to follow him. It left Tom even more vulnerable because she always seemed to sneak in when he was alone. And due to Sara's absence, he had no "I'm-really-with-your-sister" story to tell.

Hermione honestly found the whole ordeal -even when Liz was chasing her- amusing, if not tedious. Many a time she had heard the Ravenclaw common room door open, only to see Riddle dragging an unwilling Liz through the door due to another of her failed endeavours.

How Liz had even got the Slytherin password was beyond her -though she suspected that the other girl had charmed her way into a poor bloke's head (or, more precisely, _pants_) and seduced it out of him- and Hermione kept up with Liz's escapades via the Marauder's Map. Her laughing at Riddle had become a daily occurrence, from the times when Liz exited her own common room to the times Riddle hauled her back.

Liz was nothing if not unshakeable though and had begun sitting next to Hermione at all meals, abandoning Celeste and even her siblings for the previously bushy-haired girl. The worst came when Liz tried to get Hermione to sit with the Slytherins with her. Hermione had blatantly refused, but when Liz had started to cry (though the tears had seemed fake...) she had reluctantly agreed, her resolve to attract less attention winning out above her comfort. And so she had let the vexatious, materialistic girl take her to the snake's den, literally. Hermione supposed she hadn't been a Gryffindor in her *ahem* _previous lifetime_ for no reason.

In fact, despite Liz's constant bothering, she had started to feel more like her old self as of late. She had got rid of her worries and uncertainties about her mission and had come up with a plan; what Dumbledore had suggested could never -would never- work. She had to kill Tom Marvolo Riddle, not just because he was an arrogant, bigoted, hypocritical arse that she hated, but because he _needed _to die. It may alter the timeline and she may not be able to return, but wasn't it worth it? To know she had done something for the good of the world, something selfless, something _Harry_ would have done, something that would ensure -quite possibly- her friends a normal life... wasn't sacrificing herself _worth_ it? There was a price one had to pay for freedom, and though she may taste the liberty of a lifetime without a pompous Dark Lord from the inside of a cold, dank prison cell, wouldn't it be worth it? Hermione could very well be setting herself up for a reserved space in Azkaban for murder, she could be planning for a life in which she would never see her friends alive, but to know they were free of the tribulations they would have faced with Riddle alive, to know they were most likely safe and it was all due to her...

She could live with that. She could live knowing not whether her friends retained the same personality due to nature versus nurture, for they would live in her heart, forever and always. She could live knowing she had made a difference -a very _big_ difference. She could die alone, in her cell with the peaceful knowledge that she had changed the world. It may not be the change she would expect, it may not be the perfect solution, it may not be ideal, but if that was to be her fate, at least she had _tried_.

Such was her reasoning when she began to plot He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named's death.

* * *

**The Great Hall, Sat., Oct. 31, 7:00:**

Hermione had grown undeniably bored with little more than her books to keep her company and absolutely no social interaction to speak of outside of the casual: "hello", "excuse me" or "Riddle-I-know-you're-left-handed-but-will-you-ple ase-stop-touching-my-arm-thank-you-very-much". The latter comment was due to Divination, a class where she was forced to be in close proximity to the conceited teenager based on little more than Chastity's preference.

You see, Chastity had determined (somehow, though Slughorn seemed to think the same) that she and Riddle (though they had said little more than two words to each other) were absolutely smitten (which was laughable) with each other. Chastity was, quote "Helping her out" with such a "handsome" (Hermione would have said murderous) "young man" (Hermione would have called him and immature child). And though the parenthesis were annoying, Hermione couldn't help but add them in her head, silently, whenever Chastity addressed her. So you see, Divination wasn't just going in one of Hermione's ears and out the other; she was paying attention! Long enough to nonverbally ridicule Chastity, but still!

Regardless to the meddling from misinformed, though well-meaning staff, Hermione survived.

And so that brings us to Halloween day, a time of the year when all the students were especially rowdy and -according to passing whispers- a game called "Fright Night" would take place. Due to scandalous clothing (read: Liz and Celeste and practically of the Gryffindors and Slytherins) the annual Halloween ball had been disbanded two years ago in favour of this "sport" in which the main idea was to scare as many people out of their minds as possible.

Points were recorded in the hourglass structures containing rubies, sapphires, topaz and emeralds in the Great Hall. The values were as follows: a mere scream would earn you five points, to make someone cry was ten, if the person peed their pants, that was fifteen and a whopping twenty if you could make your victim throw-up or faint.

It was the sort of game that Fred and George would have very much enjoyed and left loads of room for interpretation. For example, the prank didn't exactly have to be funny, it could just be scary as fuck, or disgusting.

The only limitation was that members of the same house had to stick together, meaning you could only get points for scaring members of opposite houses. It most _certainly _encouraged inter-house unity and it screamed poor planning and obliviousness on Dippet's part. It was the sort of thing Dumbledore would get rid of immediately when he became Headmaster.

That's not to say it couldn't be a good cover- perhaps Hermione could use the confusion, the idiocy of people when in a panic or a hurry to kill Tom. It was doable, and with the distraction of "Fright Night" and the likelihood that all would think Riddle's death a prank, she could very well get off scott free, no Azkaban attached.

Hermione had spent all night planning and went down to breakfast relatively early with the Invisibility Cloak and Marauder's Map in her satchel, ready to take action.

Unfortunately, Liz must have wanted to avoid the morning rush as well, for she plopped down beside Hermione, somehow managing to have snared Tom. And now that she had him in her claws, it seemed that she wouldn't be letting him go, for she prompted him to sit and -clearly so as not to appear rude- he complied.

Liz immediately settled her legs on his lap, ignoring (though she may have missed it completely as she had been examining her countenance with a silver spoon) his pointedly irked look. Hermione was unable to stop herself from sending Tom an amused smirk to which he scowled.

Naturally, he noticed the flaw in his facade and amended, "Good morning, _Fräulein_ Dumbledore, how are you today?" He kept a carefully pleasant smile on throughout the statement, though his annoyance shown in his emerald green eyes. How she had thought them black or even deep green before was beyond her. They so acutely resembled Harry's and- whoah. Sara's too. It would be such a twist if Riddle had killed his own grandson, now wouldn't it? That was completely impossible, however, as it had been stated many times that Harry's eyes were green like his mother's, not some shade of blue. That would have been really odd, wouldn't it?

"Go away Riddle," Hermione snapped, not even bothering with niceties. Must she?

"Don't be rude," Liz chastised her condescendingly, to which Hermione took offence. "Tom-Tom is our guest!"

Hermione's mouth unconsciously formed the strange new nickname. _Tom-Tom?_

Riddle winced again, most especially when Liz kissed him on the corner of the mouth and slid her hand up to the inside of his thigh.

Every girl who loved the idol (which was, in fact, _every girl_) shot jealous glares at the apparent couple. All of the sane ones (namely Hannah, Marissa, Hermione and a few blokes) just raised their eyebrows in simultaneous question.

"Are you being forced, Riddle?" Hermione took gratification in the advantageous scene and snickered. One steaming hot plate of blackmail, coming up... now. Riddle shoved the offending limb (which had been inching closer and closer to his crotch than was appropriate in public) off his leg.

"It's not rape if it's con_sensual_," Liz draped her arms across Riddle's shoulders and scooted her legs further into his lap, her skirt riding up, now essentially on top of him.

Riddle rolled his eyes, determining that he needed to get the Ravenclaw off him, _now_, public image be damned. Humiliation of the schoolwide type seemed to be his best, and possibly only, option. Therefore, he unceremoniously dumped Liz on the floor, her arse connecting with the stone in a satisfying smack! causing him to smirk. "Sorry," he apologised, sounding rather charmingly amused. No wonder he could get away with anything, including murder. Innocence was a facial arrangement he seemed to have mastered long ago. Or perhaps it was a family thing, for if she was correct, his uncle Morfin had been a sociopath.

Yup, that settled it. Definitely a family thing.

Liz huffed and puffed and would have blown a nearby house of sticks down had she not been so embarrassed. "I'll get you back for that later, Tom-Tom!" She promised in a somehow seductive screech, making everyone cringe at the decibel.

The sound didn't seem to have bothered Riddle though; in fact, his smirk only widened.

_I bet he gets pleasure from hearing people scream their lungs out whilst they cower at his feet_.

Nope, that wouldn't surprise her in the slightest.

Everyone laughed at the foolish girl's antics, most especially when she stomped out of the Great Hall leaving Hermione and Riddle alone.

Surprisingly enough, Tom didn't head to the Slytherin table (what an outrage!) which earned Hermione infuriated glowers, though she wasn't sure how they managed to spin it on her. It wasn't like she had _chosen_ to invite Tom to her table. That had been purely Liz. Why they hadn't been more angry when the slag-ish Ravenclaw had lured the Slytherin prefect to her table was beyond her. It most likely had to to do with Liz's affiliation to the Fangirl Army.

Marissa decided to come to Hermione's rescue, though she couldn't fathom why, considering she had pretended to not see the Lucas girl every time she waved her over at meals or in class, or even in the common room.

"Hello, Tom. Where's Sara?" Marissa questioned nonchalantly, as though her sister hadn't been missing for the past few weeks and she wasn't just now inquiring as to why. "You've been avoiding me for the past _three weeks_." Well, that explained the delayed reaction...

"Sara is busy." Was his response.

Marissa's expression darkened, "I'm sure she is. What have you done to her?"

"That's been a very popular question this past month," Riddle remarked. "Did it ever occur to you -either of you, really- that I haven't done anything to your dearest comrade?"

Marissa shut her mouth. "I'll find out, Riddle, and when I do-" her threat trailed off- "you'll be sorry, _immensely so_, that you crossed a member of the Lucas family. We will be your downfall, _every single one of us_."

"Is that a pureblood promise?" Riddle cocked his head to the side.

Marissa's lips thinned, "Yes. Brought forth by the house of Lucas." It was more than a bit shocking to find that 'Lucas' was a pureblood last name. It sounded so muggle, and to think that these girls were orphans yet still knew this... They must have researched their heritage, much like Riddle. It wouldn't amaze her, honestly, if Sara had conducted the investigation with Tom.

Hermione wasn't sure what had overcome her, but she remembered having read something on this subject once; it was old magic, carried through the blood of each pureblooded family, known indescribably to each member, "Witnessed by the house of Dumbledore." She was shocked that the words had come out of her mouth and felt the ring on her finger and the chain around her neck heat up almost painfully. She watched at the red diamonds on the accessory on her digit flash brightly. Luckily, the other two didn't notice, as they were too busy glaring at each other. Hermione made a mental note to approach her uncle about the matter later.

"Sealed by the noble house of Salazar Slytherin." Riddle spat.

"So you are the Heir..." Hermione remembered having accused him as such long ago and chose now to bring it up again. "Actually, it's not that astonishing."

"Feel in awe," Marissa recommended with an eye roll, "normally his arrogant assliness doesn't grace us mere mortals with his presence at the witty, wondrous table of Ravenclaw. "What shall you seal this promise with? And how do I even know this will work, half-blood?"

Riddle's expression didn't change as he acknowledged the insult. "Blood risks the chance of a bond. A kiss will do." He grabbed Marissa's hand, much to her displeasure, and kissed the back of her hand, much like he had done to Hermione on the first day.

Marissa recoiled and leapt up with one last glare before she exited.

"Enjoy the show?" Riddle spun on Hermione, crimson trickling into his irises, slowly, steadily.

"Yes." Was her simple reply before she too left, headed to the library.

Unfortunately, her day was only getting started.

* * *

**Some Time After Breakfast:**

After she had sworn vengeance upon the prat known as Riddle, Marissa had teamed with her redheaded Gryffindor mates for a day of pissing the shit out of Riddle, oxymoron intended.

What had begun as a way to provoke Riddle had quickly turned to harassment, and then full out violence. He had avoided every one of her legitimate pranks with cool calculous, and so it had turned into full out war on her part. Her goal was no longer to faze him; no, it was far more sinister than that. She wanted to harm him.

The violent part had started out small, a foot stuck in his path at the last moment when he was walking down the hall, a hex only remotely dangerous slung his way. Then she had tried to kill him by nearly dropping a stone gargoyle from off the Astronomy Tower onto him. The heavy object was so high up, he had seen it plummeting toward him and had "heroically" rescued the "helpless" Hufflepuffs, to which they had then fawned over him for ten minutes.

If there was one thing to be said about Tom though, it was that he was a good sport (or at least planned to kill her) and so he didn't get the teachers involved. She, Prewett and Weasley had a bet going, and she had her money on him getting her back later. Prewett, who thought better of the Slytherin prince, had his money on Riddle being an honourable man.

Marissa had laughed at that.

She brought the violin -which she had got from the music room- to her chin and made it sing a haunting melody as Tom sauntered by. She threw the string instrument at the back of his head, to which he ducked at the last second, and it hit Liz in the forehead instead as she turned the corner.

Marissa had stopped paying attention when it had missed Riddle, however, and didn't notice as she huffed and stalked away.

* * *

To say that Tom was fed up with the Lucases would be an understatement. It was time to fight back.

It wasn't his intention for the victim to be Liz, but that was how it worked out and to be frank, he was happy that things had turned out this way. It all started in the Slytherin common room...

* * *

Tom was almost knocked to the ground by a tremendous force attacking him from behind. Two arms wrapped around his waist and a (delirious) schoolgirl squeal erupted in his eardrum. To be fair, he wouldn't have classified it as a schoolgirl scream, as it was much less innocent.

"Guess who!"

Tom struggled not to groan at the sound, or snap the neck of the person emitting it, as who else could it be but the most obnoxious monster to ever torment his existence? The Ravenclaw who had stalked him for years, nearly _raped_ him at one point, exposed herself repeatedly to him in the prefect's bathroom (how she had got the password was beyond him) and in this very common room (again, he had no idea). It was Liz.

He pulled out of her grasp -which was strong for someone so small- and turned to face her, she who he constantly, "affectionately" referred to in his mind as 'it'. Riddle found that he was facing a rather large pair of breasts which were shoved tastelessly further towards him as Liz put on her best alluring smile. One hundred fifty-one centimetres of pure annoying slag in this one.

"What do you want?" He growled, which seemed to turn her on, based on the hungry look in her caramel orbs. This was pretty amusing, seeing as she couldn't turn a microwave oven on herself.

"Tom-Tom, you don't sound very happy to see me," she pouted, her voice whiny, "I told you I would pay you back later," she complained.

"How did you even get _in_ here?" Tom demanded, finally asking the question that had been nagging him for a while now. Ever since she had started showing up at the most inopportune times here, really.

"What do you mean?" She appeared genuinely confused.

Tom glanced about him, exasperation cut into his aristocratic features, "This is the _Slytherin_ common room."

"Oh, _that_," she said, as though what he had been referring to had been completely unobvious. Liz launched into a long story involving a broom closet, Mortimer's broom, her 'Forbidden Forest', and a bendy straw. _What?_ Finishing the drawn out story with an enthused: "anything to be with you, Tom-Tom!"

Liz reached for his hand only for him to slap her away, leaving her to glare at him. She stepped forward and Tom backed up. It was unlike him to retreat, but he needed a moment to think, a minute to decide on the best course of action.

For such a tiny girl, she could be really creepy and, when she wanted to be, a little scary when she didn't get what she wanted. The kind of scary a very tiny bird could be, meaning not at all. Her facial expressions, however, could change at frightening speeds.

It dawned on Tom that Liz had been assaulting him -whether it be sexually so or otherwise- for some time now as well as that Marissa had pushed him past his breaking point earlier. That was more than likely the explanation to his next actions.

"Something wrong?" Liz purred, rubbing her chest against his arm.

Unlike before Tom didn't pull back and gave her his own captivating smile, "Actually," she was eating this up! How could she be so dense as to believe he would like _her?_ He had made it clear so many other times he had lost count, so why would she suddenly believe this act? "Could you do me a favour?"

"Oh, yeah, sure!" She exclaimed.

"Come with me for a second?" Tom shot her a charming, pleading look. "I'm sorry to be so sudden, but-"

"Ooooh!" The Ravenclaw practically shouted, "Where to!"

"It's a... surprise..." He mentally chuckled.

That seemed to delight her immensely. How she couldn't tell that he was up to something...? Tom almost pitied her slow mind. Almost.

The further Tom led her, the more confused and excited (?) Liz became. It was shocking that Liz didn't skip, though it probably saved Tom some of his sanity.

Finally, they arrived at their destination- The Room of Requirement.

_I need a place to get rid of Liz. I need a place to get rid of Liz. I need a place to get rid of Liz._ Tom repeated the mantra through his head as he paced along, dragging Liz with him the whole way.

The door appeared and Liz gasped appreciatively, though what she thought was inside was something that was more than likely best kept to herself. Tom opened the door -which Liz seemed to believe he had conjured out of thin air because he was a 'super-amazingly-fantastically-wonderful' wizard.

The room was filled with piles of junk. Tom was initially confused, but got over it, wondering what he was supposed to do. _Should I just leave her here and lock the door? Maybe I don't even need to lock it; she's stupid enough to get lost in here_.

Then he saw it. Hidden in a stack of useless kids toys was a knife. He'd never used a knife before. He'd always thought that muggle murders were stupid, but the idea of seeing her blood all over the floor appealed to him._ Crimson would line the floor as she screamed. It would be the most attractive he ever heard her._

Liz only appeared more lost. "Tom-Tom, what are we doing here?"

With difficulty, Tom pulled his eyes away from the shiny new weapon and -almost mechanically- locked the door, just in case.

Liz raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. When Tom didn't reply though, she tugged on his arm.

"Tom-Tom, are you okay?"

Riddle pushed her away, any air of friendliness having vanished at the promise of them being alone. Liz tripped on a stray shoes and landed on her arse for the second time today. Whilst she struggled to stand up, the young Dark Lord went for the knife.

Finally, realisation of her fate flashed through her eyes and she backed up the wall, shaking her head. "Tom-Tom, you can't be serious!" And there it was; her protests. Such a sweet sound.

Tom didn't move, didn't say anything. Just stood there, glaring at her with a knife in his left hand. He was imagining how it would play out, how he must appear to her right now. Actually, he forced that out of his mind- she probably thought he was into S & M.

"Tom, why do you have a knife?" She asked dumbly, though they both knew what the reason was.

Tom slowly began advancing toward her, tears in her eyes. For a brief second, Tom wondered if she regretted all that she had done to him? If not, he would make her.

"Put the knife down." She said slowly, her voice shaking.

"Put it down!" She shouted, but Riddle didn't give pause.

Liz reached for her wand, but Riddle was content with the knowledge that she wouldn't find it. He had taken it from her whilst they were walking down the hallway. It hadn't been hard, really; he'd simply taken her hand in his to distract her and slipped his unoccupied digits into her back pocket.

"Looking for this?" He held up the blackthorn wand and began twirling it through his fingers, much like he was doing with the knife.

The dread that shone through her eyes made him smirk. He brought the knife to her throat. Everything in him wanted her dead. Marissa too, but her most of all.

He felt so powerful in that moment. He held her life in his hand, literally. This knife was the thing that could end her existence. A sick smirk rolled across his mouth. Such sweet victory. To know that after all this time he could kill her right her, right now. To know that he would made it even better. He held her past, her present, _her very future_ in his hands.

His shaking hands. They weren't quaking from fear or guilt, but anticipation. Anticipation and pent up anger. He gave her a moment of relief as he turned away and she bit out a solaced sigh. She thought she would live! High, cold laughter filled the air as he was on her in a flash, the knife on her flesh.

The blade whispered across bare skin smoothly, and Liz let out an agonized scream. "P-please!" She attempted to beg, but he was too far gone.

"Scream louder for me, love," Tom groaned, a wicked smile twisted on his lips. Liz obliged as he cut her shirt cleanly down the middle, not caring when the blood poured out of the wounds he had left behind.

He was carving words into her chest, a phrase spelling out right before her eyes, though they were too watery for her to make them out.

Riddle -no, _Voldemort_- trailed the knife all the way down her body, till her throat was raw from the shouting, till her vision was black, not blurry, to every nerve ending in her body was on fire, till she was ready to jump out of her own skin to escape the pain.

Crimson was splattered everywhere, strewn across the floor from her flailing limbs whilst she had protested, and in puddles from when she had gone limp. She had died painfully, he knew, and he was pleased with the results.

He cleaned himself and the room with a wave of his wand, and with another, Liz's body disappeared, off to the Great Hall, nude for everyone to see.

* * *

**A/N:** Schindler's List is a song written for the movie (directed by Steven Spielberg) by John Williams, who is one of my favourite composers of all time. Also; the movie has the guy that plays Voldemort in it!


	11. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 10

Only the Good are Weak

**Onesmartcookie78**

**Summary**: "'Lord Voldemort,'" she began condescendingly, "is nothing more than a 'clever'-" at this she air-quoted- "anagram for Tom Marvolo Riddle who, coincidentally, happens to be the biggest prat I know." -Taken from cover. Time travel, Dark!Sarcastic!Tom, Tomione! Rated M for explicit language at times, hot snogging, "adult" themes (thanks, Liz) and death/violence.

**A/N:** Life is busy and it takes you to places you don't expect. I also blame my recent Avengers obsession and the fact that I completely rewrote this chapter because I wasn't happy with it.

**Chapter 10: Melancholy Morning**

* * *

"By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest."

― Confucius

* * *

_Crimson was splattered everywhere, strewn across the floor from her flailing limbs whilst she had protested, and in puddles from when she had gone limp. She had died painfully, he knew, and he was pleased with the results._

_He cleaned himself and the room with a wave of his wand, and with another, Liz's body disappeared, off to the Great Hall, nude for everyone to see._

* * *

**The Library, Sat., Oct. 31, 1942, 19:00:**

Her first sign that something was wrong should have been Tom's rather satiated smile. Hermione had fallen asleep in the library early on in the afternoon, only to be rudely awakened when Tom had flopped down in the seat across from her.

Her second signal to something being off should have been his eyes, which -whilst dark and lovely in this lighting- held a sort of manic glint. But Hermione's were still half-lidded with sleep and slumber fogged her thoughts.

What woke her up (and was, coincidentally, her third hint) was when Riddle stretched an arm across the table, shut her book, fisted his hand into her hair, and slammed his lips into hers.

Hermione was surprised and shoved him away immediately: "Wha-" she spluttered out. "You can't just-!"

"The deal was sealed with a kiss," Tom told her monotonously, even as a smirk slid across his smooth features. "As a pureblood you should remember that -since I am the 'accused' in this situation- I had to do with you as I did with Marissa." His orbs, so obscured from the dim, nearly medieval lighting, were black again, soulless. The contrast between said feature and his pale skin and jet black hair was startling in that moment. High cheekbones were more pronounced than ever. Long lashes and his straight nose cast more shadows across his face due to his head's tilted angle. He looked like a fallen angel, sinisterly smug, beautifully possessed in that instant.

Hermione could not help herself from turning to violence. The natural reaction when one was threatened was fight or flight. Both options ran their course through Hermione's spectacularly quick, sharp processing unit, otherwise known as the brain. On one hand, flight was the safest option due to her cover and the level of danger Riddle hid, however deep or close to the surface it might be. On the other, she had been running from him far too often and she was Hermione Granger dammit, not just Heather Dumbledore. Gryffindor instincts were clawing at her, and she was certain that she was about to make a Harry-like reckless decision.

Having grown up as a muggle, _both_ of them having grown up as muggles, she was sure Riddle would understand on some level...

She slapped him.

Well, _tried_ to slap him, 'tried' being the operative word. Riddle caught her hand with an odd sort of dexterity and casually tightened his hold to the point of pain.

"I do hope you understand that actions have consequences, Miss Dumbledore," he cautioned, eyes alight with a sick sort of luminescence. His unoccupied fingers came up to wrap around her desperately wriggling fingers, stilling them and entwining them with his own long, slender pianist digits. "Such lovely hands... I wonder-" he trailed off as Hermione attempted to prise her right hand away with her left- "do stop. It's quite annoying," he growled. "As I was saying, I wonder if you do so need this hand... tell me, Miss Dumbledore, do you think you could adapt to being left handed?"

Hermione was -internally, of course- having a seizure. Did he plan to break her hand? All for a slap after _he_ had kissed her? He had been asking for it! Why couldn't he have kissed the back of her hand like Marissa? Was he testing her to see what she would do when faced with a situations she couldn't exactly back out of without exposing herself in some way? In this case, she would be showing weakness if she said that he could have kissed her somewhere other than the mouth.

Actually, saying that was an all-around bad idea; with his womanising skills (he was like a dog with two dicks) he'd find a way to turn it into a sexual innuendo. Not that with her saying something like that it would be _difficult_ to turn it into a sexual innuendo. Quite the opposite, really.

So what should she say to his blatant threat? In fact, what had made Riddle feel confident enough to threaten her in public at a time where there were people in the library. Unless it was later than she thought and...

As subtly as she could, Hermione glanced behind Riddle in order to observe her surroundings.

Empty. The library was empty.

"Eyes here," Riddle commanded, and just like that, Hermione's snapped to his. There was something so endearing, so open about his smile. For now he was grinning like the cheshire cat, like he held a secret that she didn't know- it was smug. It was captivating. And he was a predator that had finally caught its prey.

Realisation made her eyes widen- he was wearing a smirk that spoke of victory already won. She was a piece of meat that he could and would rip to shreds. "What do you want, Riddle?" She sighed, making sure the sound was as defeated as it could get. She had fooled him before, so who's to say that she couldn't do the same now? Time to put her poor acting skills to use.

"I want to understand you, Heather." Riddle's expression turned beseeching and Hermione remembered that Riddle was a very good actor and most certainly a force to be reckoned with. Was she really going to try and pull the wool over his eyes? He was intelligent, she admitted however grudgingly, and he would see right through her. She needed to be convincing.

If she wanted this to work, she needed to persuade even herself that she was telling the truth. "What do you want to know?" She questioned, trying to appear innocent.

"Everything, start to finish. I have a feeling we could be good mates, Heather, but we can't until we know more about each other." He bullshited cleanly through his teeth.

He really was superb in the art of manipulation. It was a subtle thing, one she would have figured he lacked the patience to carry out, but if there was one thing about Riddle that she should have learned long ago, it was that he was nothing if not patient. It was something she had forgotten. She had figured him more hasty in his youth and the fact of the matter was that she had everything upside down and sideways. No, his older version was the one that had become rash in his age.

This version of Tom Riddle knew how to control any impulsiveness he carried. He knew how to await the fruit of his labors. He knew how to entrance even the most impervious being with his hypnotic temptation. It was a skill that had never failed him and he was going to practise it now.

Hermione on the other hand, had a feeling that she knew where this would lead and sought to excuse herself, "Actually, Tom," she purposely used his first name and forced a blush, "dinner starts in only a few minutes and I was hoping to get a bite."

Riddle's pupils dilated, "So was I," and she was sure that he wasn't talking about the food.

Hermione gulped; she was most definitely his prey. "What?"

"I said that I was hoping to get a bite as well," he cocked his head to the side, his eyes smouldering.

"A bite of what?" Hermione was feeling faint. Was it hot in here? The world seemed to be closing in until all she could see was Riddle.

"Dinner." He bared his teeth with his next smile. "Now let's go, Miss Dumbledore."

She was practically quaking after hadn't thought he would agree with her, especially in this way; had figured that Riddle would say no since they both knew where the kitchens were. But he had agreed and now his only objection was that they resume the conversation later on.

Hermione, needless to say, was on guard when he offered her his arm to walk to dinner. Of course, this time period did have certain social customs that needed to be adhered to, ones that she had insofar neglected (read: smashed to smithereens) due to spending more than half her time by herself. And when she had interacted with others, she had linked arms with the Lucases.

She wondered what the rest of the student population thought of her, especially considering it was probably an oddity to see such an independent woman in this time- scratch that, it definitely must be strange to see her doing things by herself.

Speaking of others, she had noticed that after the Lucases and Tom had approached her, none of the other curious bystanders had done so. She hadn't been hounded after for interrogation due to her secretive past, she hadn't been accosted by the Fangirl Army like Sara had insinuated she may be. She hadn't been subject to any curses, harmless in nature or not. She had not been pranked all day. The others had simply let her be. That in and of itself was weird.

Had the Lucases and Tom scared away everyone else? Had they staked claim to her or something? Were people just afraid to approach her seeing as she was related to Dumbledore? She contemplated asking Riddle and determined that when they had their conversation, she would ask that, along with some of her other questions.

Voldemort gave her a cordial nod as he lead her to her table, garnering many angry stares. Perhaps she shouldn't have thought about the Fangirl Army- if she in any way believed in Divination, she would think she had jinxed herself. Hermione had a good head on her shoulders though and didn't believe so.

Before she could stop him, Tom gave her a cheeky kiss on the hand, hissing: "Like I said, sealed with a kiss," before strutting off to his posse.

A few outraged gasps sounded from the audience and Hermione fought off a blush. Great, she could blush on demand, but couldn't ward one away one when she needed to. Good to know her limits, she supposed.

A few seconds later, Sara plopped down beside her, murmuring a soft: "Sorry I'm late."

Hermione nearly fell out of her seat and the food appeared in front of the group. "I- you- but- RIDDLE!" Hermione snarled, "what did he do to you? Why were you-"

"Hush," Sara scolded, her hood securely fastened on top of her head. All but her nose was hidden from view and she had to wonder how Hermione had known it to be her. Her own sisters hadn't given her the light of day. "I'm incognito because I'm not supposed to be here."

"Why?" Hermione demanded, ignoring the array of tasty dinners awaiting her selection to focus on the elusive girl.

"Official Ministry business," Sara said, her voice a whisper, "if I succeed, you'll know what I'm trying to do."

"Why can't you just-"

"How did you even know?" Sara took a sip of pumpkin juice and dug in ravenously -though she somehow managed to retain elegant manners- in a manner that spoke of starvation.

"What?" Hermione was entirely too consumed with catching Riddle's eye so that she could deduce whether or not he even knew Sara was here. Maybe this was why he had seemed so off earlier in the library? If Sara was here though, would Hermione still be able to kill Riddle?

"How did you know it was me?" Sara clarified as she speared some _bratwurst_ and heaped it onto her plate along with some_ foie gras_ that Hermione was certain had just appeared. Hermione would have to test the capabilities of the table later, for it seemed that food appeared according to what the students craved if what had just happened rang true for every scenario.

Maybe she could ask the house-elves?

"I don't know." Hermione shrugged, her mind far off as she tried to come up with a conclusive experiment lest the house-elves refuse to tell her. Fawkes might know, so she'd have to question him too.

"Good evening, everyone," Dippet took the podium for the first time since Hermione had arrived, "it is time that we announce the commencement of our annual Dueling Club, hosted, of course, by our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, professor Merrythought." A smattering of applause followed the statement, though it was unenthusiastic and light. "But that's not why I'm here really, now is it?" Dippet chuckled as though it was funny and cleared his throat when no one else did. "Ehm. Um, yes I'm here to tell you the winner of Fright Night!"

And then the screaming started.

"Oh my Salazar! That's a good prank!"

"Eeek!"

"Is she really dead?"

"That's a transfiguration, right?!"

"She's floating."

"So realistic!"

"Wait, if she's up there, but she's not over there, is that really her?"

"That makes sense..."

"She's dead! Liz Lucas is dead!"

There was a resounding thump as her body dropped to the floor, completely nude, and the whole room fell to a hushed silence before erupting with noise once again.

A few things happened at once: Dippet shouted for everyone to remain calm (meaning everyone panicked further), Hermione caught Voldemort's eyes and saw the truth in their depths, Sara and Marissa and Hannah all rushed over, Sara clearing tables in graceful leaps. Dumbledore sprinted, auburn hair flying like he was in a bad Pantene commercial, to the fallen Ravenclaw. Tom winked at Hermione, Tom's eyes found Sara and widened and Hermione decided that he had to die once and for all.

* * *

**The Corridors, Sunday, Nov. 1, 1942, 01:20:**

Hermione was like a phantom as she stole away into the night. Utilising the Map and the Cloak, she was able to bypass any obstacles that were in her way. This included all of the teachers patrolling to see if they could catch the murderer, and the prefects who were on double duty that night along with the Head Girl and Boy. Hermione even wandered by Dumbledore who seemed to have the uncanny ability to see _through_ the Cloak. This was, in fact, proved when she heard him say gently: "I hope you know what you are doing, Miss Granger."

Dumbledore was an anomaly like that.

When she arrived at the entrance to the common room, rather, the region of wall that Harry and Ron had told her was the Slytherin house's common room, Hermione was faced with her first dilemma for the evening; she didn't know the password. Coaxing the phrase out of a Slytherin in passing would be too difficult due to their stubbornness and penchant for hexing. Perhaps she hadn't planned this out properly enough.

Hermione sighed quietly to herself and was about to ask Fawkes for help when an idea popped into her head: someone was bound to come along to gain entrance. Slytherins were awfully nefarious, so she was sure that -somewhere out there- there was a sly snake headed her way.

As a result, Hermione found herself staking out the entrance for the next hour or so with her eyes glued to the Map, half afraid that Tom would mysteriously disappear, half worried that someone would discover her presence. Unfortunately as well as fortunately, no one was coming towards her.

Hermione felt her eyes drifting shut -how accustomed to sleep she had become- and cursed herself for not staying up later each night. If she had, midnight escapades may have been easier to perform... only to snap them open again when a new blip popped up on the enchanted parchment.

Hermione's eyes followed the new name- how on earth had Sara Lucas got into Tom's room? Just as Hermione was about to break down the wall due to curiosity, Alphard Black came loping down the hallway.

It was startling, needless to say, the resemblance Sirius bore to his uncle. The one, if she was correct, that had given him money when his parents had disowned him. Hermione felt terrible for taking advantage of the unsuspecting teenager, but to be honest, her mission was a whole lot more important than her moral compass.

"_House_ fucking _unity_." Alphard grumbled, and the stones of the walls rearranged themselves like those of the entrance to Diagon Alley, parting cleanly to reveal the... foyer.

The Slytherin common room was elaborate to say the least.

Hermione had thought it would be medieval in appearance, had almost expected skeletons hanging from the ceiling and an array of books containing dark magic.

Instead, there was a Gothic chandelier, black twisted iron standing out against the grey ceiling. She had expected more green and silver, but only the sofas matched her preconceived notions; the loveseats and armchairs were such a deep emerald, they might as well have been black with shining, metallic satin pillows. There was a large fireplace, though the chill persisted and the room was not damp as one would expect based on its location. There was, of all things, a grand piano situated near bay windows displaying the surprisingly lucid lake. The water wasn't as brackish as it had appeared on the surface.

What made her day the most though were the exquisite paintings residing on the walls. More than a couple were the regulation magical portraits, but a great deal were Rembrandt's, Monet's, Michelangelo's, Donatello's, and Raphael's. There was even a Titian. And the only reason Hermione knew who had painted each was the plaque underneath each frame.

The gilded text announced the name of the painting, the artist and the contributor- all of them had been put there by Riddle.

* * *

**Tom Riddle's Room, Sunday, Nov. 1, 01:50:**

"You son of a fucking bitch!" Sara hissed as she tackled the Slytherin to the floor. Instead of going to bed like Madam Hanesley and Dippet and _Dumbledore_ had beseeched of her, she'd snuck into the Room of Requirement and wished for passage to Tom's room. The result? A very disgruntled Ravenclaw crash landing in his closet, stumbling out, and then reaching for his throat.

_Revenge._

Tom hadn't the grace to be even the slightest bit shocked. He could have feigned it for her, made her feel more satisfied in her attack, but he wouldn't succumb to such human niceties. And though that didn't surprise her, it still hurt; she knew what he was up to, but at the moments of his great reveals, she pretended to be stunned, awestruck even.

Riddle responded to her throwing herself at him quite calmly, simply rolling over, covering her with his weight and keeping her pinned whilst she hissed and writhed, trying to throw him off so that she might claw his face, stab him, _kill_ him. It never once crossed her mind that she could just as easily hex him- in times of great distress or anger, she supposed, one lost all sense of the rationality or intelligence they normally possessed. On any other occasion, she would have planned her assault, would have thought it through. Would have won, would have beaten him.

She wondered if all witches or wizards -whether they be half-bloods, purebloods or muggleborns- if they had been raised in the muggle world without magic, would they have resorted to not using magic like she? Was she different? Would she lose any acceptance that came with sharing a last name with girls she wasn't even related to?

_Such a beautiful promise._

Sara shivered under Tom, feeling his hands, gentle for once, carding through her hair. He hadn't meant for her to be here when he had killed her sister, she knew. It would have been detrimental to his obvious need to manipulate and control her in every way. No, it had been an accident, a mistake born of his lack of thought and the assumption that she was still to be away. But he had still done it.

"How could you?" Sara's voice was strangled, weak. She knew she was disgusting him, knew that he would walk all over her now do to this time of vulnerability. She would be naive to think otherwise and it would have been in poor taste to even consider any other option than that. It would be beneath her to even entertain the idea of him not using this situation as more blackmail for later, something else to shove in her face.

_Revenge. A glorious prize._

"It had to be done," Riddle's dark eyes skimmed over her face -considering her- before he smirked widely, "I shall assume that your intelligence has carried you to the accurate conclusion that I had not meant for this to occur whilst you were present?"

"You should be so lucky as to have someone as in tune to you as me by your side," the statement was cracked and dry at best, sounding as though she had travelled miles through a desert with no water. "And you know that I have."

"I won't let you forget." Tom murmured, his dark hair brushing her cheek, supple as silk and twice as lovely. His one hand -which had come to clasp both of hers above her head- tightened involuntarily. "I will share with you the memory of her murder if I must, but I won't let you forget. You need to know pain -_suffering_- in order to inflict it, love, and at my command, spread the seeds of sorrow you will. The next sister is your choice. You will carry it out."

"I will not! I never will!" Sara thrashed harder and finally managed to get a leg in between his, kneeing him in the groin.

The effect was immediate as Tom rolled off her and Sara took a second to relish the scene; his jaw was clenched, eyes red, malicious. He hadn't been cool like he normally was- his skin had been warm, inviting. His attractiveness was part of his lure and it was such a difficult thing to fight. Everything about him screamed predator, domination and perhaps that was why she so readily bowed to his whims. She was absolutely terrified of the man.

Sara went to open the door, but found that she couldn't. It wasn't even a physical barrier such as the only exit being locked or wards immersing it. It was worse.

Her on guilt made her pause. She hadn't paused when she had left for the war, hadn't felt like she owed Tom anything for making him suffer. Lately though... she had switched wands with him before she had been called in for duty this time, an act so intimate she had felt herself blush. There was something unbelievably familiar in using the yew wand and it had worked for her like a charm, conceded to her every whim. It had been strange, though she supposed it had to do with the soul bond. Sara wondered if the exchange of wands had meant anything to him.

Had he felt her magic thrumming through his veins when he had used it like she had? Had he felt like her blood was running through his veins like she had experienced?

_So many questions, so little time._

The contrition this time, she figured, was due to seeing him suffer on the floor in front of her. She had conjured some nice mental pictures last time in order to cheer herself up when she had left the first time (how angry and volatile she had been) but actually seeing it...

Sara breathed in, her conscience fading out. She could see why Voldemort prided himself in breaking someone so thoroughly, why he found it enjoyable to smash someone's very mind into irrevocable pieces. She could see the madness and it was taking her away and that frightened her more than Voldemort.

_The clock was ticking._

Sara swallowed and went to step over Riddle's fallen form, but his hand shot out and clenched her ankle before yanking her harshly to the floor. She wound up half on top of him and gave a yelp as he reversed the position with terrifying ease.

"Did you honestly think I would allow you to walk away after you had done such a thing?" Voldemort snarled as he pulled harshly on her, raising a pained groan. "Where did you think you would go? You cannot escape me! I who control you!"

"You do not control me!" Sara shrieked and could see that he hadn't been expecting her outburst. Usually she was powerless, docile, tractable, _compliant_- tonight though... this was different. This was personal. He had killed her sister. She was going to kill him. Maybe not now, maybe not next year, perhaps not even the year after that, but she would get to him eventually and he would suffer at her command before dying at her hand. For now though, she let loose all of the anger inside of her, determining it to be a better course of action. That way his silver tongue could coax her into forgiving him and she would -both figuratively and in some ways literally- be in bed with him again. "I am not an object, Thomas Marvolo Riddle!"

_Death was staring her in the face._

He snorted, "Is that what you tell yourself? That you do not in any way belong to me? That I do not own you to do whatever I please with you, objections or not?"

"Yes!" Sara thrashed more violently than before, to no avail.

The seconds were deafening, the quiet tick of the second hand crescendoing.

"That," Tom chuckled darkly, "is. A. LIE!" And with that, his magic had thrown her across the room, her head smacking against the wall and he was quick to follow. His movements were graceful as he approached her, svelte shoulder set, lips drawn into a contorted snarl, feral in appearance but angelic in countenance. He was avenging, he was beautiful. He was part hers, but only in theory. No one could ever own Tom Riddle, even if they possessed a piece of his soul.

_She had set off a bomb._

"I'll bet that's how you sleep at night- you convince yourself that you own me- no, THAT YOU OWN THE WORLD and you get the warm fuzzies!" Sara's chin jutted out defiantly, "oh, how the mighty have fallen. Is that what gets you off as well?"

_Kaboom._

His magic was choking her and it threw her onto the sofa where she sat whilst Tom calmed himself.

When he turned back to her, he was fresh faced and his eyes had lightened to their usual emerald. He was considerably more amiable as he tried to conform her to his whims again, tried to scare the shit out of her using his intimidating figure rather than brute force. When he came at her again, he took a different approach.

Tom trailed his now arctic fingers down Sara's cheek, the pale a sharp contrast on her tan skin. She flinched ever so slightly and he smirked outwardly. "What happened to you, love?" He asked, his demeanour barely off, masked by that of a charming young man. His digits found their way to her full red lips and began tracing them absentmindedly. "You used to be so..." his eyes darkened. "Corruptible." His hand whipped out, the resounding crack as he slapped her echoing around the large room. Sara collapsed against the armrest of the couch, her ears ringing.

When she found the strength to hoist herself up, feeling frail and beaten, but her resolve the clearest it had ever been, she was met with his back.

Riddle was playing with something, slender digits dancing across black leather- his diary. He swung his head to the side ever so imperceptibly, "Leave me."

And what else could she so but obey? She was his to command and not matter what she said against him, she would always return to do his bidding.

_Always._

* * *

Hermione waited till Sara had excused herself from Riddle's room before she once again began counting down the hours.

When Sara did come out, she was withdrawn- her hood was raised, her posture bent, slumped, so unlike her regal gait of before. She had lost her edge and Hermione was absolutely horrified to see that tears were positively streaming down her housemates face.

When the Lucas felt like she had reached the edge of Riddle's hearing range, his control, his magic -when she felt that she had reached the edge of _him_- she broke out into a run, nearly tripping over her own feet, her limbs carrying her, though she knew not where.

Hermione watched the progression, her heart reaching out for the distraught sister of the recently deceased, her curiosity nearly getting the best of her as she wished to know what Sara would be doing. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be able to get back into the Slytherin common room to kill Riddle. She would deal with the fallout of Voldemort's brutal murder after she had killed him whilst he slept.

There would be no honor, no fight. There would be no mercy. It would just be her, the falling snow outside, a flash of green light and Tom's eyes, matching in colour as the life faded out of them. He wouldn't be expecting this, that was for sure.

He wouldn't be expecting her, Albus Dumbledore's niece.

He wouldn't be expecting Hermione Granger.

She was a war veteran and there would be no honour in his death, no last feast, no great, final battle. Just her and him. The wand and its light. Death and life rolled into one.

Would she regret it? Not at all.

Hermione morbidly wondered what the words that had been defined into the stark white skin of Liz's chest.

She could find out.

Hermione watched as Sara's dot travelled up and up the Grand Staircase, loitering around the seventh floor._ The Room of Requirement_. That's where she was going. Sara's dot fully disappeared and Hermione counted out two hours, watching as Riddle's dot stayed fixed in place, determining that he was asleep.

_Without further thought, Hermione tread up the staircase to the room containing the vile snake that she would be eradicating._

* * *

**A/N:** Melancholy Morning is by Joe Bongiorno.


	12. Book 1, Arc 1, Chapter 11

Only the Good are Weak

Onesmartcookie78

**Summary:** "'Lord Voldemort,'" she began condescendingly, "is nothing more than a 'clever'-" at this she air-quoted- "anagram for Tom Marvolo Riddle who, coincidentally, happens to be the biggest prat I know." -Taken from cover. Time travel, Dark!Sarcastic!Tom, Tomione! Rated M for explicit language at times, hot snogging, "adult" themes (thanks, Liz) and death/violence.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing.

**A/N:** Updates are likely to be once or twice a month now. You lot know where there should be lines. Forgive me :( Fanfiction is being a real bitch.

Reviews are food and I need them to be motivated to post, edit and write.

**Chapter 11: Palladio**

* * *

_"Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate."_

― Sun Tzu, _The Art of War_

* * *

_Without further thought, Hermione tread up the staircase to the room containing the vile snake that she would be eradicating._

* * *

**Riddle's Room, Sunday, Nov. 1, 1942, 03:00:**

Hermione eased the door open as gently as she could, keeping in mind that though she was invisible, she wasn't soundproof. It had taken her the better part of a half an hour to detangle the wards surrounding Riddle's bastion, and as a result, her magic felt weaker. Hermione had half a mind to wait- recharge some- t_hink this through_, but the timer had been set. Riddle would be able to tell that someone had messed with his wards if she waited too long, and that was a risk she wasn't willing to take. She didn't want to encounter any problems, she wanted this to be clear cut.

Of course, nothing ever goes according to plan (or in this case, preference).

Hermione gently eased the door open, almost taking the Cloak off for fear of him being awake. He had taken her word for it last time, acknowledged that it was simply a Disillusionment Charm that she had cast on herself, but if he were to wake, would he believe her a second time? Hermione need not have worried.

There, standing up straight and wearing a knowing smirk was Tom Riddle, diary in hand, staring straight at her.

* * *

**Meanwhile, The Room of Requirement:**

Sara's lips were pursed tightly as she shoved trousers and dresses and coats and whatever else of her hastily unpacked things would fit into her bag. And here she thought she'd have a few more days before she'd need to go back to being under the Ministry's beck and call.

The war against Grindelwald had expanded exponentially in the past few months, so much so that she'd been called back.

The Ministry had promised her when she'd signed up under the guise of a sixteen year old boy a two year tour, compensation, and no political entanglements to insure her continued involvement with their war. She'd also agreed to be shipped where they wanted her, a mistake -though beneficial- for her. You see, most of the fighters the British Ministry had managed to scrounge up were old veterans who didn't want to go out of the country. As she'd told them she didn't mind and they had more than enough on their defensive line, the British Ministry had hired her, only to immediately refer her to the Italian, German and French Ministries. The German Minister had automatically snatched her up on account of Grindelwald's primary objective being the control of Germany. And so, twelve year old Sara, disguised under a potion brewed by Slughorn and Dippet's good word citing her as a good student capable of missing a few years of her education, was carted off to Germany. Never mind that she did not speak a word of the language, never mind that no one had bothered to check her for Polyjuice Potions, never mind that Dumbledore didn't support her in the slightest.

Never mind that Tom needed her.

Oh, she'd visited him on occasion. Just enough to keep him alive. Though sick and suffering weren't out of the question. She'd even stolen one of his cloaks to keep warm, to spite him, to keep herself from getting sick. Whatever the case, she'd done it. And it'd kept her alive despite the stretched bond. She hadn't left anything for Tom. He was a prat. A tosser.

This time though, she had his wand. Her fingers on the piece of wood felt intimate. On the other hand, simply touching the wand made her feel sick; how many had suffered at the end of this simple piece of wood? How many would come to? How many would be willing, how many of them would be the men and women who'd sworn their fealty to him? How many of them would be innocent?

_Don't think about that._

And she didn't.

* * *

**Riddle's Room**

"Hello, Miss Dumbledore," Tom greeted politely, as though she weren't a deer caught in the headlights. "And how are you this fine evening?" He eased himself into a waiting armchair, all green and silver and black, all sharpness and wickedness. He snapped the diary closed and rested it in his lap as he steepled his fingers together, a feral smirk befalling his handsome features.

Hermione didn't answer. She was still under the Invisibility Cloak, so how did he know she was here? None of this made any sense. Tom should be asleep. She should be letting the green light fly from her wand. He shouldn't be expecting her with... tea and cookies?

"I do know you're there, Miss Dumbledore, and standing is not very comfortable. Do please," he gestured to the chair across from him, sipping his tea nonchalantly. "Sit down." The last part of it was more an order than a well-rehearsed offer. "Do not make me force you to. I'm not in a good mood tonight, as I'm sure you noticed by the state of Miss Lucas."

Hermione gulped. She was going to have tea with a murderer. A genocidal, psychopathic, gorgeous man who would lose his nose, his humanity and his soul. She opened her mouth a few times, unable to force words out, glad that he couldn't see her floundering. Her decision was made for her when Riddle calmly set down his teacup and stalked over to her with every intention of ripping the Cloak off.

Not wanting the Hallow in his hands, Hermione quickly took off the thing and shoved it in her bag, along with the Marauder's Map.

Riddle took in the actions with interest. "I was right, then; an invisibility cloak. Quite rare, those."

Hermione nodded as Riddle took another damning step towards her. Hermione had meant to be firm in her stature, meant not to show fear. But when such a predator was casually edging closer to her, how was she to stop from moving? And so, as Tom closed the distance, Hermione found herself retreating.

"Oh, Heather," Tom murmured as her back hit the wall, "don't you know?" He leaned in enough that his lips brushed her ear in a manner that was not at all innocent. Hermione swallowed, her eyes falling shut despite her efforts otherwise. "I have no reason to hurt you," he pulled back, taking in her flustered state with a smirk. "Not when you have something I want."

"And what would that be?" Hermione didn't quite manage to stop her voice from quivering as Riddle seated himself, bringing a cookie to his lips. She slowly walked to the seat across him, taking her place.

Riddle gestured for her to drink her tea as he said deliberately: "Well, the cloak for one and, on the other hand, your virginity."

Hermione promptly choked on her tea. "What?!"

* * *

**Hannah's Room:**

Sara closed the door softly to Hannah's room as she carefully made her way to her bedside table with a note. Enclosed in the stiff parchment was a letter of reassurance to Hannah, telling her where she would be, where she had been and when she was likely to be back.

Sara placed the letter on the table and brushed Hannah's hair away from her face as she kissed her on the forehead. She was nearly out the door when Hannah sat upright in bed, gasping for breath.

"Hannah?" Sara shook her sister as she knelt near her side, "Hannah, what's wrong?"

Hannah's eyes flew open, only the whites exposed as she hissed. "Tonight, he will take them."

Sara had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she knew there was nothing she could do.

* * *

**Riddle's Room:**

"You- what?" Hermione wasn't feeling at all eloquent with her hysterical words. "I don't-"

"Hush now, Miss Dumbledore, we both know perfectly well that you heard me," Riddle scolded her gently, lips curling as he ran a hand through his thoroughly rumpled black hair. "Aren't you curious as to how I knew it was you spying on me?" He raised an elegant eyebrow at her, aristocratic features accented by the dim lighting of the room.

"I-" Hermione fought to control herself, "I suppose so."

"Shame, then," Riddle sighed, "I have no intention to tell you. Now," he pulled out the wand, the white yew- wait... that wasn't his usual wand... Riddle noticed her straying gaze and glanced at the wand. "Oh, do you like it?" He gave the wood a wave, "cherry, fourteen inches, dragon heartstring core. Do you know whose wand this is?"

Hermione didn't say anything, which was just as well; Riddle had obviously meant for the question to be rhetorical: "They say that cherry wood produces wands with positively lethal power." He stroked the reddish wand lovingly, eyes fixed on the wood. "The core, of course, doesn't matter, but when teamed with dragon heartstring, they say the wand ought not to me given to a witch or wizard without exceptional self-control and strength of mind. The problem with this though," he aimed the wand at her, "is the tendency of dragon heartstring to be the easiest wand core to turn to the dark side. Unfortunately, dragon heartstring also happens to be the most powerful wand core, and its ability to learn quicker than other wand cores only adds to the appeal. Dragon heartstring isn't the most loyal wand core; in fact, its allegiance changes based on who is holding it.

"I'll ask again, Miss Dumbledore- do you know whose wand I am holding?" Riddle spun the thing in between his fingers akin to the way Sara had always done. The twirling of the wood was what jogged Hermione's memory in the end.

"That's Sara Lucas's wand. Why do you have her wand?" Hermione fixed a glare on him, "did you steal it?"

"I believe I have said this before. Do pay attention, Miss Dumbledore," he gave an exasperated sigh, "I'm in a rather bad mood this evening- well, morning. What do you think happened? As I recall, you had a theory regarding the pair of us."

"Did you steal it from her before after you raped her?" Hermione swallowed, reaching into the pocket of her robes to retrieve her own wand. She did, after all, still have mission.

Tom clucked his tongue in a chastising manner, "Looking for this?" He produced a second wand from the depths of his pockets switching both wands to one hand whilst he undid his tie. "Shame you're not more observant. Might've helped you to discern how I knew it was you coming in and not one of my," he chuckled, "_friends_."

The second wand was far more familiar and her instincts were screaming at her to retrieve it. Yes, the second wand was vine, twelve inches with a dragon heartstring core itself. "Give me back my wand, Riddle," Hermione growled, hatred pouring off every inch of her skin. "Give it here right now."

_Or suffer the consequences._ The threat went unspoken, but Tom acknowledged it anyway. "Or else what, Miss Dumbledore? For some reason, I assume you are nowhere near as gifted in wandless magic as my dear friend, Miss Sara Lucas." His sneer only served to make him appear more beautiful, somehow.

"Don't make me take it from you, Riddle," Hermione bluffed, rising.

Riddle matched her with an annoyingly smug expression of content pasted on. "Is that so? We'll have to see where that leads then, won't we?"

Hermione's growing ire made her desperation for her wand increase as she jumped across the table, knocking it to the ground in a mess of shattered china and broken cookies. She tackled Riddle to the ground and he let her. In fact, he took a second to absorb the position, before Hermione shrieked in his ear, "Give me my wand, you bastard."

"Actually," Riddle mused with a smirk, leaning up to whisper in her ear, "I quite like this position."

Hermione made a noise of disgust and slapped him, reaching for her wand whilst he was stunned.

* * *

**Hannah's Room:**

"What do you mean, Hannah?" Sara asked, scribbling the words down for the record, that way she might scrutinise them further later. The leather bound book she was writing in was already filled to the brim with Hannah's startling predictions, her visions of the future. That in itself was frightening, the fact that she could see the future. It was part of Sara's agreement with Tom that she tell him all of Hannah's visions of the future, though she didn't always listen. In fact, she only told him the predictions she knew would please him. Through Hannah, Sara knew so much.

"They will not be returned, but stolen," Hannah blinked furiously, her eyes turning back to their normal shade as she fell backwards on the pillow. "All will be well. Keep the hourglass close to your heart."

Sara's brow furrowed; the hourglass? Could she mean the Time-Turner? It was a good thing she had the one Tom, Hermione and her were supposed to be sharing around her neck. Briefly Sara contemplated dropping the device off in Hermione's quarters, but decided against it. The two of them may need it to attend classes, but she had no doubt that Tom would misuse the thing and it could give her an upper hand in the battle field.

And so, for the moment, Sara decided to keep the Time-Turner. _"Obliviate."_ She murmured, wiping the prediction from her sister's mind. Hannah's brown immediately furrowed at the intrusion, but it relaxed again once Sara had kissed it for a second time. "Sleep well, Hannah. I will see you soon."

There. Now Tom would never find out about this occurrence; his Legilimency would not work because Hannah couldn't remember.

No one would ever know.

* * *

**Tom's Room:**

Riddle rose to his feet languidly. "What now, Miss Dumbledore? Shall we duel?"

_What?_

"Why would we duel?" Hermione scowled at him, "I have no reason to fight you."

"And yet," Riddle considered her with his head cocked to the side, "that is why you came here, originally, isn't it?"

Hermione clenched her teeth. "Perhaps. I know that you were the one who killed Liz."

"Curiosity, then," Riddle drawled, righting the table manually. He then repaired the tableware with magic, levitating it all back to the proper place. "You want to know what I carved into her chest."

Hermione spluttered, wondering if denying it would be a good idea. If she admitted that that was part of what had driven her here, she would seem cold of heart, but she would have a question answered. Was that worth it? In the end, her curiosity did win out. "Go on then, tell me what."

_"'Only the Good are Weak'_." He sat back down in his chair, propping his chin on a fisted hand, "quite good isn't it? Imaginative, innovative. I quite like that phrase. I think I might coin it."

Hermione felt sick. "You are..." _Despicable. Evil. The devil._

"Attractive, single, and sitting right in front of you," Tom raised an eyebrow. "Out with it, then; why aren't you running to your uncle or screaming. You could even cry, if you wanted. I wouldn't stop you."

"I'm sure you would enjoy that," Hermione snapped, "and I think I _will_, go to Uncle Albus. It's been fun, Riddle. Have a grand time in Azkaban."

"You are absolutely right," Riddle agreed, "it _has_ been fun. So let's have more fun." And -without further warning- Riddle began throwing hexes at her.

Hermione knocked her armchair down in time for the _stupefy_ aimed at her legs to be blocked by it. She chanced a peak at Riddle from behind her shield, finding that he was standing tall, eyes glowing red. He took notice of her stare and smirked for the umpteenth time that night. Then he shot an _impedimenta_ at her face. Hermione was not to be outdone, firing a Jelly-Legs at him just before his second barrage of curse bore down upon her.

_Shit._

"Isn't this lovely, Heather?" Riddle called as he closed in on her. Hermione scrambled back from behind the chair, ducking around the grand piano that had found its way into his room. _Why would he need a-_ "Heather, I do rather love to use that piano. I'm going to need you to come out from behind it," he sighed, "I mean, I'd rather not destroy it, but I _suppose_ I could, if prompted."

_Terror, cold terror, coursed through her veins whilst hot adrenaline made her heart pound and her reflexes sharp._

Bring it on.

Hermione shot a spell of Snape's creation, _Langlock_ on Tom. He dodged it. The spell would have made him unable to talk. A shame that it had missed. Luckily she had followed it up with a strong _Sectumsempra_ and a weaker _Tarantallegra._ Tom tried to block the _Sectumsempra_, but seeing as it was Dark magic, an ordinary _Protego_ didn't work on it. Unfamiliar with the spell, Tom had been caught unaware.

Riddle was lucky enough to only get hit in the arm with the _Sectumsempra_, though the _Tarantallegra _hit him full on. He was able to cancel that easily enough, his eyes burning with rage as he took in Hermione's smirk. "That wasn't very nice, Heather. I could have got hurt. Are we allowed to use Dark magic then?" He threw a spell that Hermione didn't know and she ducked out of the way, not knowing what shield charm would work on it.

"I told you this would be great fun!" Riddle said in a sing-song tone, "isn't this grand, Heather? Tell me, do you know who Lord Voldemort is?"

Hermione shivered. _Lord Voldemort_. "Do I know who Lord Voldemort is?" She snorted, scrambling to her feet to avoid a jinx as she rolled out from her cover to face him head on. "_'Lord Voldemort,'_" she began condescendingly, punctuating the name with a silent _Petrificus Totalus_. "Is nothing more than a 'clever'-" at this she air-quoted- "anagram for 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' who, coincidentally, happens to be the biggest prat I know. Would you imagine that, Riddle? I figured it out."

"Good, good," Riddle praised her, his ego stroked. "I didn't expect you to take the time to check my name to see if it fit that anagram. Sara told you about Lord Voldemort then? She's not very good at keeping her mouth shut. You're much better at playing my games than her, Heather. You see," he deflected an Expelliarmus. "I _know_ she's spying on me for Dumbledore. Not very well, might I add. You-" he laughed darkly, "_you_ on the other hand, are very unpredictable. Dark magic. Wouldn't your uncle be so disappointed? That's how I _know_ you won't tell on me. You'll get in trouble for the spells you used. And you've made it clear -so very _painfully_ obvious- that all you want is to please your uncle. Dark magic wouldn't please him, now would it?"

Whilst true, his logic was wrong.

She wouldn't tell because by the time she was done with him, there would be nothing left to tell. _"Avada-_" her lips started to shape the spell everyone knew so well, the spell that would kill the victim in one merciless second...

_"STUPEFY!"_ She should have kept an eye on the door.

* * *

Tom spun to see who had intruded on his rather amusing duel, only to be met with a blank-faced Atticus Lestrange. "My orders are complete." And with that his eyes closed, only to snap open a second later. "What? My Lord? How did I get here?"

"You were sleepwalking, Lestrange. Good night."

Atticus's expression was confused, but he listened to the words regardless, heading back to his dorm without a thought to the girl on the floor.

Riddle smirked. Apparently, this was the first step of Sara's ultimate plan. He wondered what else would occur soon.

He grabbed Heather's bag from the floor, yanking out the Invisibility Cloak from it's depths. He also discovered a large piece of folded parchment. Suspicious. He took that too.

He decided to be nice and bring Heather Dumbledore to her dorm room, breezing through the Eagle knocker's riddle. Tom levitated Heather onto her bed, taking off her clothes and breaking into her trunk to retrieve her pyjamas. He dressed her in those, taking only a second to marvel at her appearance. He placed her wand on her bedside table, noting the glimmer of gold peaking out from underneath her nightgown just along her collarbone.

The Time-Turner. Sara must have given it to her. Tom found himself undoing the chain from around her neck, shoving the device into his pocket. He kindly tucked the girl into her bed, casting a silent _Obliviate_. Now she wouldn't remember anything.

Everything had been set in motion.

* * *

**A/N:** Battle music. That's how I like to think of this song. Listen to the Escala version, if you will. It's brilliant.


End file.
